


GOT Him

by UnravelMySoul



Category: GOT7
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Age Regression/De-Aging, Angel Jackson Wang, Animal Abuse, Animal Death, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Black Markets, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Cute Jackson Wang, Depression, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Explicit Language, F/M, Forced Masturbation, Forced Orgasm, Forced Relationship, Forced Voyeurism, Gang Rape, Graphic Description, Graphic Description of Corpses, Heavy Angst, Human Trafficking, Jackson Wang-centric, Kidnapping, M/M, Multi, Murder, Necrophilia, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Puppy Play, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sad Jackson Wang, Sensory Deprivation, Sexual Slavery, Sexual Violence, Soft Jackson Wang, Torture, Tortured Jackson Wang, extreme violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:48:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24049204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnravelMySoul/pseuds/UnravelMySoul
Summary: Jackson’s life flips upside down as he’s trapped in the dark web for 2 years, constantly dying in a hell on earth. How will the boys bring him back?----This isn’t really happening. Jackson slaps himself. He slaps himself harder. Clenches his fists together tightly and bangs them to the side of his head.“Wake up! Please, God, please no!”| Ready to play? | Today 8:00 PM….“No! Stop! You’re killing it! Stop!” Jackson screams.The man only laughs.
Relationships: Jackson Wang/Original Character(s)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 63





	1. "Hey :)...”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An anonymous number texts Jackson.

#  1: “Hey :)...”

* * *

###  2020.04.18 (Sat)… 1:36 AM | JYP Building - Indoor Gym

Jackson huffs another breathless grunt as he finishes his last repetition of his sixth bicep curl set. He sets down the seventy pound dumbbell onto the weight wrack and flexes into the mirror covering the wall across from him, observing himself at different angles to see if he could figure out how to isolate certain muscle groups that are weaker than the others. He should turn all the lights on to see everything better, but his eyes are already burning with sweat and lethargy; he's sure the lights would only grant him a headache. He scrunches his eyes hard and opens them to a blurry image of himself and decides it’s best to leave them dimmed via the emergency lights.

Lifting his black T’s sleeve, he straightens his arm and notices his triceps are a bit...fluffier? Squishy? Whatever it is, he doesn’t find it acceptable. It’s typically not  _ that _ difficult an area to tone up, so how the hell did he let it get to this point? Maybe it was wrong to use lower weights and focus on repetition...but it may just need more time... Turning to the side might’ve been a mistake now that his eyes have traveled to his back. Curious, he takes off his shirt and tosses it to the side to land next to his phone and water bottle on the floor. He’s never been too obsessed with his physical image, not until he became an idol for GOT7 and realized looks in this industry were almost level with talent, if not more judged. If they have talent but look like slobs, then who’s going to be watching? He wears hats and beanies to remedy this, giving himself a sharp and “bad-boy” appearance; even if Jinyoung says he looks good with and without those safety-blanketed accessories. Athleticism has been a part of who he is from the beginning, that and his health, keeping himself busy and putting his perceived self-care above all other reasoning. This way of thinking was founded in his motivation and persistence through his grandfather, who consistently told him to take care of himself in ways that will be shown when he’s sixty, seventy, ninety. Long lasting is better than short lived, afterall. He does admit, however, another diet could help kickstart his wanted results.

“Hm…”

Jackson sucks in both lips, licking them slowly before biting the bottom one without any real intention to harm or worry the skin there to the point that his makeup stylist reprimands him - again. A set of lateral flies could help with his back, but he’ll have to look up some trapezius exercises later though for some better methods. He could use the Smith Machine, probably. It’s a real pain, looking at himself so critically and creasing his brows. If he could have abs like Choi Minho, or Jeon Jungkook’s  _ entire  _ body, he’d be confident beyond belief. People might even be more forgiving of his rusty vocal skills. His eyes begin to burn for another reason not relating to sleep deprivation. He runs his fingers through his dampened, brown mop of hair and jumps at the sound of the gym door opening.

“Ah, you scared me, hyung!” Jackson yells, holding his heaving chest.

“Are you flexing for yourself in the dark?” Im Jaebum smirks, but there’s something about the look on his face that tells Jackson he shouldn’t take the comment as a friendly banter starter.

He doesn’t know why he suddenly feels so body shy, maybe it’s being caught analyzing and  _ overanalyzing _ himself, but he lunges for his shirt and throws it on quickly. He wonders if Jaebum sees the flaws he brought to the surface just a second ago. What he does know is that he can’t show his confliction.

“What? Because flexing for myself in the light surrounded by people is better?” Jackson playfully smiles, then lifts his shirt to expose his flexed abs. “I gotta make sure it’s camera ready. I’m handcrafting Rome over here, afterall.”

“Jackson,” Jaebum can’t help the chuckle and shakes his head, stopping beside the younger male placing a hand on his shoulder. He makes a face and shifts uncomfortably at the feeling of his hand being soaked in sweat, stopping whatever serious comment was about to leave his lips. “You’re absolutely drenched! Ew.”

Jackson grabs hold of his leader’s hand and squeezes it. “I was working hard.”

Jaebum doesn’t return the warm squeeze as Jackson had hoped, which is to be expected, and finds Jaebum’s hand retracting and a face of concern making him more than uncomfortable. Jackson pouts and puts on his best puppy eyes, knowing most of the members have grown somewhat immune by now. Somewhat.

“It’s almost two in the morning, what are you doing here?” Jaebum smiles at Jackson’s increasing aegyo but presses on. “You’re coming home and then you’re going to tell me why you’ve been staying up this late doing- doing whatever the hell you’re doing.”

Jackson’s puppy expression falls, to be replaced with a more naturally innocent one he doesn’t have to try for; his eyebrows creased in distraught and eyes wide - which has its own power over Jaebum which far exceeds aegyo. He shouldn’t be taking his grouchy behavior out on Jackson, but it’s late and they have a serious schedule tomorrow morning; he wants to be asleep already.

Jaebum sighs and moves past Jackson to pick up his things. The younger turns around and reaches out to stop his hyung and insists on picking them up himself. He does so quickly then looks up to the older male with caution, biting his lip.

“Are you angry with me?” 

It was meant to come out whiny and cute to bring some lighthearted play into the suddenly tiresome night, but instead it comes out a bit defensive and timid. He must be more tired than he thought. Jaebum must’ve realized his threatening presence and softens his posture, uncrossing his arms, offering a quick sideways smile as apology.

“Sorry, ’m just tired. You’re my roommate though, I can’t sleep unless you’re home so we don’t get in trouble. I didn’t mean to sound angry,” Jaebum apologizes, wrapping an arm around Jackson’s shoulders as he leads him out of the eerily quiet gym space. He looks at Jackson, who’s looking down at his belongings held tightly in his hands, and looking oddly spacey but shakes it off as just needing rest.

“Sorry… I should’ve thought about you,” Jackson mutters.

Ever since coming back from China, Jackson’s been in his head and he can’t help but wonder if he’d run into some sour fans in the airport again or didn’t have the time available to visit his parents. That must hurt like hell, being so close but not having the time to see them, or not being able to visit them for too long. He subconsciously draws him in closer and rubs his shoulder with his thumb. Jackson is huge on skinship and being in constant close proximity as a means of comfort, and as much as the older male doesn’t crave it and almost hates it, he’ll give in for his altruistic friend. Jaebum chuckles at the small subconscious pout forming on Jackson’s lips. He’s such an adorably charming guy when he isn’t trying to be loud and funny.

“I’m really not angry, you don’t need to sulk,” Jaebum says quietly as they walk down the hall and to the elevator.

Jackson snaps his head up to look at Jaebum with wide eyes and shakes his head profusely. That bone tired feeling is really making him lose control of his internal emotions, practically putting them on display rather than covering them up with some joke. Jaebum laughs fully this time and presses the elevator button ‘up’ and takes his arm off of Jackson to look at him fully, one of his eyebrows raised to see if Jackson would challenge his observation. 

“I’m not  _ sulking _ , hyung~” Jackson pouts and whines, accentuating his childish behavior with a stomp of his foot. He reaches his hands out and fists onto Jaebum’s sweatshirt with halfhearted tugs. “I’m sle-e-e-epy! I swear I was gonna fall asleep because your arms are so warm! It’s your fault for being a meanie.”

The elevator door opens and the two step inside. Ah, so he’s resorting to childish antics instead of his humor, same difference in the end - only one is usually the result of defense and nervousness and the other from exhaustion and a need for affection. Jaebum sometimes wonders if Jackson realizes how translucent he can be, that the mask he wears is seen as clearly as he thinks of it to be hidden.

“Aish, Jackson lower your voice,” Jaebum says scoldingly but doesn’t stop the way Jackson keeps his hands glued to his sweater or how the younger practically lays himself on his chest, pushing them both into the elevator wall. “If you’re so tired, why didn’t you come home sooner? You’re being a big baby.”

“I didn’t know I was sleepy!” Jackson whines, his voice loud in the confines of the elevator.

Even with the lack of cameras, Jackson doesn’t change, and that’s something to admire about him. All of these cutesy things aren’t an act because it’s who he is, a needy puppy who constantly wants his head scratched and belly rubbed. Despite being a cat person, he can’t resist their little Wang puppy and gives in, setting his hand on the younger's head and feeling the younger move closer ever so slightly. Needy little thing. If only he didn’t smell like a gym.

With Jackson’s hand like a cuff around his wrist, they step out of the elevator and wave goodnight to the night security guard behind the front desk and make their way into their car. By the time they arrive at their dorm, Jackson is asleep against the window.

  
  


###  2020.04.18 (Sat)… 6:00 AM | GOT7’s Dorm

What a hatred feeling. It’s this sensation when his entire body aches so heavily, it feels sickly and that only triggers the rest of his body to react like it  _ is  _ sick and therefore produces similar symptoms. His sinus area is throbbing, his eyes burn with every blink in a way they’d burn as if he read in the dark all night, his back feels stiff, taut, and spastic if he moves too quickly, and the rest of his limbs feel heavy and bulky. Those feelings alone make him feel gross on the outside, too, but he pushes them aside in favor of conquering today’s schedule like he promised Jaebum he’d be able to.

He’s the first one ready and seated at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of warm water only because the thought of tea, coffee, or breakfast really didn’t sound appealing. His stomach churns at the thought, again. He sips on his warm water and lets it warm his crampy chest. He should at least make a shake real quick - on second thought, the sound of the blender is already giving him a migraine.

“Morning,” BamBam yawns, grabbing a cereal bowl from the cabinet.

“Good morning,” Jackson greets back, warm and loud.

“How are you so hyper already?” Mark slinks his way into the kitchen and pours himself a cup of coffee.

Just because Jackson didn’t want any, doesn’t mean he won’t make it for others. He feels happy seeing his sleepy friends go straight to the coffee that they know has been already brewed. Mark sits in a few seats away from Jackson, but the smell of such bitter coffee sends a punch-like twinge to his right temple. He really hopes he doesn’t have a headache all day, the other members don’t need to worry about his inability to properly monitor his health despite his claims of equilibrium dieting and knowledge. He takes a deep breath and offers Mark a bright smile. Before he can say anything, Jaebum walks in with a concerned Jinyoung talking beside him.

“What’s wrong?” Mark asks the older two.

“Huh?” Jinyoung turns away from Jaebum to Mark. “Oh, nothing. Jaebum hyung said he has a migraine or something.”

“Look in the medicine cabinet, I bought more aspirin,” Mark says.

“Thanks,” Jaebum mumbles and gets himself together with Jinyoung hovering over him. 

He wishes someone would offer him that kind of comfort. But he’s Jackson Wang, and if he asks for supervision, attention,  _ and  _ acts out as a rowdy jokester, he’s going to become more annoying than he already is. He’s the one who caused that headache in the first place, so it  _ should _ be Jaebum getting the attention and not him. Jackson did this to himself, as it turns out, and forced his hyung to collect him when he should’ve been sleeping. Mark places a bowl of oatmeal under his drooping head, some fresh fruit sitting on top. He looks up with a surprised expression but Mark only smiles back and rubs his back in a silent “You’re welcome”. Has his ability to conceal his internalizing been compromised? The thought in this one act of care makes his speculations disappear and he tries his best to eat every bite.

No one says much of anything after that minor bit of morning commotion and grogginess, which Jackson is partly glad for. Times like these are typical for him to be filling the white noise with a few cracked jokes, but his own head is pounding and with more bodies hovering in their limited spaced kitchen, he can’t find it in him to even attempt a joke in fear of the cacophony laughter that might result.

  
  


###  ...6:30 AM | The GOT7 Van

Jackson decided to sit in the very back so the noise or voices of whoever would be behind him wouldn’t end up traveling to him. This way, he only has to share a row with Yugyeom, who’s typically quiet in car rides -  _ especially  _ the morning car rides as the younger is still waking up. He’ll have to sit with Jaebum on their way back because he knows how quiet the older gets when he’s finished with practice.

His pocket vibrates and he slips out his phone. All of his social media have their notifications turned off, BTS are too busy for it to be RM - honestly it’s too early for  _ any  _ other Idol group to text him with it being time for their schedules to rehearse and meet with managers. 

It’s a text message from an unknown number and he looks up to see if anyone in the van had their phones out, if maybe they were pulling a prank on him. It couldn’t be a hidden camera thing...could it? They didn’t usually have cameras in the early mornings, definitely not when they were about to learn new choreographies. He opens the message and purses his lips with a small questioning tilt of his head.

| Hey :) |  _ Today 6:37 AM _

| Sorry, I don’t have your name saved into my phone. Who is this? |

_ Delivered 6:38 AM _

| Omg are you really Jackson Wang? |  _ Today 6:38 AM _

Alright, so it’s most likely a fan. This is the second time this has happened this week, as a matter of fact. The first one was while he was in Hong Kong and was heading to the airport. He was walking to his terminal when the same beginning text was sent to him. They had some malicious intent with their texts, saying some unsavory things about his shameful acts of not honoring China enough. He blocked the number after he asked who it was and never got a response. It’s not common, but he could sometimes know who was texting him, if they were someone he knew or knew of him, with a simple gut feeling. Texts like these he’d typically not block them straight away because the number could end up being an artist seeking a collaboration. Not that other artists would text him directly. Everything is done via social media or through his Team Wang management team, and by then Jackson could relax knowing the source is verified. However, the only reason he blocked that number at that time was because he was struggling to breathe then, he didn’t feel like dealing with some random person trying to talk to him, or rather make him feel even worse. His eyes were stinging with tears and he couldn’t help them from falling. He was so busy that he couldn’t even say hi to his parents. What kind of son was he? His mother and father are probably disappointed in him. He shakes those thoughts away, they won’t help him right now. He looks out the window as they pull into the parking lot. They can’t see that he was about to cry. Yugyeom glances to Jackson’s slouched posture and phone dancing between his fingers. 

The person who texted him from China could have given his number to someone else. Jackson, at first found that obvious and one hundred percent believable, but then he got a bit antsy and realized this person had gotten his phone number somehow in the first place. He should lie and say it isn’t him then maybe ask for a new phone number.

| No?? Haha | 

_ Delivered 6:40 AM _

Is that what someone who wasn’t him would respond with? 

| I wish! | 

_ Delivered 6:41 AM _

He felt the immediate response but put his phone away as they entered their building. His head isn’t as foggy anymore and he’s actually feeling more like himself the longer the morning goes on. Thank God for Mark and his oatmeal.

| That’s weird. I could’ve sworn this was your number.. . |  _ Today 6:41 AM _

| I know it’s you Jackson. I saw you look at your phone the first time I texted you |

| Are you lying to me? |  _ Today 6:55 AM _

| Answer me oppa! |  _ Today 6:56 AM _

| Stop ignoring me! |  _ Today 7:00 AM _

| (Image) |  _ Today 7:55 AM _

| (Image) |  _ Today 8:20 AM _

| Are you punishing me? |  _ Today 8:21 AM _

|Wouldn’t you’d rather play~ | 

| Play with me Jacky baby |

| You make me feel so dirty trying to get your attention. Should I try something different? Should I show you how dirty you make me feel? |  _ Today 8:22 AM _

| (Image) |  _ Today 10:23 AM _

  
  


“Who’s phone keeps going off?” The choreographer yells.

He stops the music and turns to the sweating boys with irritation. Jackson tries to catch his breath to answer but all he can do is raise his hand.

“Turn that damn thing off before I throw it in the trash. Rest of you take a quick water break and come back to the first transition. I want to clean up the second formation,” Their choreographer instructs.

It was obvious he was having a rough morning the second he walked into the dance room. They’ve dealt with each other’s bad days all the time so they know not to take it personally, they also know not to poke a growling bear.

“Yes, sir,” The boys all bow and make for their water quickly, mouths feeling pasty and dry.

Jackson immediately goes to his phone and sees more than fifty unread messages from the same unknown number, all ranging from this morning to not a minute ago. He opens the texts and instantly covers the screen with his hand, looking around to see if anyone saw. Shit. He’d rather not risk looking again to see if what he saw was really what he saw, so he turns it off completely and shoves it into his bag. Jinyoung tosses a water bottle to his side, effectively startling him and making him yelp in a high tone. The boys laugh at his reaction but all Jackson can do is offer a meek smile before downing the entire bottle of water. He hopes no one can see how he just opened an unsolicited sext message. Just another thing to shake off is all. It isn’t like girls haven’t sent him nude photos in his DM’s before, it’s just a little startling because it’s his personal number. He doesn’t know any women crass enough to start something like this. Talk about bold.

  
  


###  2020.04.19 (Sun)...12:00 AM | GOT7’s Dorm

Two hundred messages. Two. Hundred. He can’t believe one person could come up with that many one sided comments all by themselves. He hadn’t trusted his own stealth to turn on his phone and wander into those texts again while in the company building, not with the risk of someone finding them and thinking he’s been out hooking up.

That’s why he waited until everyone was asleep. 

A lot of the messages are images, he must admit, some clean but most just plain pornographic. From the sexts of fans in his DM’s to the occasional porn, he’s never given his information out, paid for videos, or even made an account to a website that would be this highly...filthy. If this woman was a pornstar, he has no idea how she’s gotten his number or why she’s doing this to him.

| You’re really pretty but you really shouldn’t be doing this. Sending these to strangers is dangerous, right? Please delete my number and don’t share it with anyone. |  _ Delivered 12:06 AM _

Why would she even listen? He should just block her. He goes to the number and hits ‘block’ and lets a sigh of relief out. He sets his phone down beside him and closes his eyes, ready to drift off. His phone begins to ding like crazy, message after message being sent to him.

“Turn off your alarm, Jackson,” Jaebum growls.

“It isn't- sorry, hyung!” Jackson whisper yells and turns his notifications on mute.

He opens the texts and watches as photo after photo is sent to him, each one extremely filthy and erotic. He’d be lying if he said the pictures weren't affecting him, or possibly making the room a bit warm. Jesus, this woman just had a stockpile of the filthiest,  _ erotic _ , pictures Jackson has ever been exposed to. He’s never been into BDSM or anything violent with sex, so these photos were definitly making him feel some type of way. She was such a gorgeous woman, maybe the same age as him if not a bit younger, great slim yet athletic body, tan skin, short hair. Her eyes almost looked scared and innocent, yet the photos were  _ everything _ but innocent. A part of his brain is telling him that something isn’t right, that this is a virus or that he’s got a serious creep on his hands sending him pictures of a woman who might  _ actually _ be scared and innocent. But the woman is attractive, he’s had no time for himself in months, and he’s too exhausted to fight against the growing arousal. Two hundred messages. He watches two hundred sexual images appear on his screen like the rolling credits to the end of a movie. 

| (Video) |

| You aren’t a stranger. I’ve known you for a long, looonngg time ;) |  _ Today 12:15 AM _

Two hundred and one. 

He’s never gotten a video before. Looking at Jaebum on the other bed and back to his phone, he bites his lip and throws caution to the wind. Grabbing a pair of headphones, he quietly pads to the bathroom down the hall. Luckily they worked hard today and everyone is out like rocks.

He locks the door behind him and sits on the toilet seat, headphones in his ears and finger hovering over the play button. Sucking in a breath, he hits play. His pulse instantly rushes, eyes comically wide, and his aw dropped. She’s moaning  _ his _ name in ways that would have him feeling guilty for months that it instantly travels south, as does his hand. He feels wrong, disgusting, and terrible but if she’s going to keep sending them with her own apparent free will then he can at least enjoy them, right? Let him pretend to be pure some other time.

He finishes with still fifteen minutes left of the video and sits their panting, the moans of the woman still emitting from his headphones. It’s only now that he wonders if any of the sounds could be heard through the very thin doors and blushes. He couldn’t exactly hear himself with the headphones on and he’s already a loud guy by nature.

| Bet that got your attention, didn’t it? ;* |  _ Today 12:30 AM _

He doesn’t respond, feeling oddly wrong for just doing what he did; almost as if he lost. The fact that she knows he, well,  _ finished _ is frightening and that knowledge makes him afraid of who’s watching him.

| Did you cum for me? I wish I was there :P I didn’t give you permission. Bad. Bad boy! |  _ Today 12:31 AM _

He takes the headphones out and looks around him, he hadn't even bothered to turn the light on, just walked in the dark hallway with his eyes long since adjusted. But the silence, the orgasmic high dropping him down to his thoughts, and the surrounding darkness is suddenly too much. He turns the lights on and cringes at the mess he’s made. He cleans everything well and looks at himself in the mirror. 

Light knocking at the door has him jumping out of his skin. He would’ve yelled if it hadn’t been for everyone sleeping.

“Jackson?” 

Oh, it’s Jaebum. He straightens himself up once more and opens the door.

“Are you going to workout? Because you’re not,” Jaebum says simply, eyes squinting against the bright light. 

It looks as though he’s going to say more but closes his mouth and creases his brows. His eyes travel to the mirror and down to the headphones and phone in Jackson’s hands, then back up to the younger’s wide eyes. Jaebum sighs and shakes his head with some kind of knowing smirk.

“Just...co- get to bed, alright?” Jaebum turns away but doesn’t move from the doorway, which means Jackson is supposed to follow him.

“Alright,” Jackson responds.

Jaebum turns off the light and begins to walk down the hall. Quickly shooting his hand out, Jackson grabs onto Jaebum’s arm before he gets too far away and uses him as a guide in the dark. 

| Did I get you? |  _ Today 12:46 AM _

He can hear Jaebum settling into bed but he can’t seem to do the same, he just stands at the foot of his own bed with his hand clutching his phone tightly. That small moment of euphoria is really beating down on him now, as are negative thoughts about overindulging as always. Just like how he spent too much time with Team Wang when his true team has always been his family.

“Jaebummie hyung, can I sleep with you tonight?” Jackson asks. “I don’t...My stomach- I can’t-”

“C’mere,” Jaebum cuts him off and the sound of his sheet lifting is like music to Jackson’s ears.

He slides under the covers and instantly clings to Jaebum’s side. There’s no reason to feel this way, he did it to himself even if he gave in so quickly. Maybe his business trip to China really messed with his mind because he’s been so emotional since returning. Hitting the gym more frequently and harder, eating on a strict diet again, not being able to sleep on his own or even have the ability to tell himself to stop when he knows he’s had enough. He doesn’t deserve to stop. He doesn’t deserve to feel guilty, but he does. He feels guilty because all everyone ever does for him is give, give, give, and he has the audacity to feel guilty for taking everything when he had the chance to decline. 

“I should’ve canceled my last meeting,” Jackson doesn’t know why he’s talking. It’s almost one in the morning again and Jaebum’s probably had it to the hilt with Jackson’s selfishness. He already woke up with a headache because of him, now he’s keeping him up with his pathetic whimpering and obsessive thoughts. He shuts himself up and pulls away from Jaebum.

“Sorry, I-” He can’t even finish his sentence without getting choked up. 

“Jackson?” Jaebum reaches out for the smaller male but Jackson is already getting out of the bed and crossing the room to his own. Jaebum drops his hands and looks up to the ceiling with a sigh. He loves Jackson, he does, only having gotten seven hours of sleep in the last two days, total, has finally gotten the best of him. He really is too tired to get up, his limbs feeling weighed down and stuck. In the time it took for him to figure out how to gather his strength and get up, he’s already passed out. 

He doesn’t hear the way Jackson’s breathing is nothing more than gasps and hiccups as he tries to desperately hold his tears back. If the sigh his hyung let out was anything at all to go by, it was that he’s fed up and doesn’t want to get into any of Jackson’s messy emotional rollercoasters. He doesn’t blame him, but it’s painful nonetheless. He might’ve been hyperventilating, but he wouldn’t know because his mind was too focused on how disappointing he must be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m going to warn you all now, my stories only seem to be getting more and more gruesome and this one is no exception. I’ll post warning before each chapter, but it honestly makes me pretty sick reading my own story. I hope you’re ready.


	2. “No One.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Public humiliation can’t be the best form of punishment.

# 2: “No one.”

* * *

It’s been weeks since Jackson’s minor midnight breakdown. Jaebum hasn’t commented or perhaps forgotten, Jackson hasn’t insisted, and Mark looks like he knows everything that happened. The walls are very thin in their dorm, everyone could’ve heard the way he whined pathetically in order to stop from crying like some bratty toddler. Whatever the case may be, Jackson doesn’t really care. He just plays his part, participates when he needs to or when it gets too stagnant, and jokes when he’s already spoken more than necessary. 

  
  


### 2020.05.07 (Thu)... 5:39 PM | JYP Building - GOT7 Meeting Room

“You guys have been doing a great job, keep it up,” Manager Seunghoon tells the seven boys. “We just have five large appearances left, but in the meantime we’ll be busy with a few variety shows and small stages.”

  
  


After another hour discussing schedules, appearances, priorities, etc., the group is dismissed and taken to their gym. They usually have group exercises at the end of the day, and usually Jackson would stay longer than the rest. Up until he got a text from, who he’s now named ‘Bambi’ for his large brown eyes. 

| I was browsing over your group’s profiles and saw that you’re the shortest? I mean it says you’re 174cm (5’9”) but honestly the pictures suggest you're shorter than that. How do you weigh heavier than those taller than you? If you tell me it’s the muscles, I’m going to laugh, maybe vomit lol. You look no better than the others and yet you try so fucking hard. It’s pathetic really. You shouldn’t weigh so much, it doesn’t look right on you. How the hell are you the face of the group? Jinyoung makes sense, but you? I’m literally laughing right now. You aren’t a solo artist. You’re a no one. | _Wed, Apr 22, 12:50 PM_

He’s stopped responding to the texts the day he got the video, but for some possessive reason he can’t seem to get rid of this person. He’s blocked them, only to get the same two hundred photos and one video sent back to him from a new number. It’ll end with a ‘Hey :)’ that’s now gotten more creepy than familiar. He’s changed his phone number, which resulted in a slew of hate texts instead of the typically sexually natured ones. Talking about punishments that borderline torture and send shivers down his spine. He’s told the members about someone texting him, only for them to tell him to block the number. They don’t believe him when he says that he’s done it fifteen times by now. At this point, he’s scared of blocking them because each time only results in more vivid depictions of torturous punishments. 

Their nature has been on verbal harassment now, saying how he’s stupid, alone, needy, clingy, an attention-whore, selfish, narcissitic, fat, a liar- the list goes on because he’s been getting hundreds of them each day and he can’t get away from them. He’d mute their notifications, but they’d somehow hack his phone and unmute them again. He has no reason to believe these messages, yet he can’t help but think back to that quiet night in the gym when he saw all those things in the mirror and not the young man looking back at him. He’s thought of all those things when his eyes burned at the very idea of his life he’s lived. He’s taken the texts as motivation to be better, because that’s how he lives - to better himself for the better enjoyment of others.

He’s gotten back on his no carb weeks, intense cardio, late nights working, and less time speaking. The boys haven’t mentioned the spontaneous change in him, and he thinks maybe because it isn’t big enough yet. So he changes again, calorie counting, more group work, less sleep, less jokes, and less of the person he saw in the mirror that night.

  
  


### … 6:45 PM | JYP Indoor Gym

His workout partner today is Yugyeom, who lifts heavier and adds on more sets than he does, or at least now since Jackson’s been trying to lift less and lose weight. Jackson received worried glances from some of the others but heeded it no mind. This is good for them, they just haven’t realized why yet. At least, that’s what the anonymous texter’s been saying. He feels himself fading the longer then get through their sets, feel his eyes throb as his vision becomes doubled or covered in black spots. He just shakes his head, breathes for a second before he keeps on. It’s during the beginning of a new set Jackson’s shaking and clammy hands drops the weight plate on his foot and he holds in a yell, something he isn’t known for doing. If things were like normal, Jackson would’ve cursed or cried, asking for comfort and help. But things are tense now and everyone is losing the easygoing man they were so comfortable approaching. Luckily it was only a twenty pound plate and not the forty-five he placed on earlier for Yugyeom. 

He feels worried touches rubbing against his back as he hunches over and breathes through the pain. _It’s okay, you’re okay,_ Jackson repeats to himself. _Stop making them worry, pussy._ He doesn’t want to cry, no matter how badly he wants to be cared for. It’s been so long since he’s been doted on or hugged as affectionately as before. The boys have been giving him more space recently, or is it because he’s so irrelevant they’ve forgotten he exists?

“Jackson, is your foot broken?” Youngjae asks. “Jackson? Just breathe. Wanna sit down?”

But Jackson ignores them all and keeps trying to breathe on his own. It isn’t broken, it can’t be. They have an important performance in three days and he’d be damned if he screws this over for them. He gets up without a word and goes to put his weight on his right foot. Jaebum catches him from doubling over but Jackson pushes him away.

“I’m okay,” Jackson grits out behind a deep breath. 

He didn’t mean to sound so irritated, but everyone’s worried glances are driving nails down a chalkboard. Jinyoung places a hand on his shoulder but Jackson throws him off, ignoring the gasps and wide eyes of everyone.

“Jac-”

“I _said_ I’m okay,” Jackson cuts off Yugyeom, who’s looking at him guiltily. It wasn’t his fault in the slightest. He sighs and corrects his behavior. “It’s not broken, maybe just bruised.”

“Sit the rest out. We only have twenty minutes left anyways,” Jaebum tells him cautiously.

“I’m fine,” Jackson argues.

“It’s not up for discussion, it was an order,” Jaebum is right, his voice leaves no room for a retort and the rest of the boys look at him with shock.

Jaebum hardly speaks in a voice like that, his expression cold and hard to read, saving this kind of nature for pranks or if they’re having fights. Not that Jaebum hasn’t had to talk Jackson back down before, he’s known to be hot headed at times. Jackson looks away but nods in acquiescence. 

  
  


### … 7:34 PM | GOT7’s Greenroom / Rest Area

A few minutes pass and a staff member shows up to the greenroom and helps him remove his shoe. She wraps his foot with an ace bandage, making sure the icepack can’t be jostled. He’s left alone again, nothing but the echoing thoughts in his head.

Another text lights up his screen, another message spitting pure malice in his flame. He was stupid to deny any comfort the boys could’ve offered him right now, and he’s made Jaebum upset with him. He wants to cry, he really wants to, but he holds off because he doesn’t deserve to feel so needy.

It’s twenty minutes until the boys file into the quiet greenroom and spot a sleeping Jackson on the couch, his foot propped and wrapped with ice. 

“Thank goodness, I thought he would be awake,” Mark comments quietly.

“Should we wait to wake him up until we’re ready to leave?” BamBam looks to Jaebum because the growl in his voice earlier had the younger boy startled.

“Yeah, let’em sleep,” Jaebum says.

Jackson looks childish while he sleeps, they all do, but his current condition is worrisome if not concerning. The Chinese member is smaller, his cheeks not as cute and full, his eyes puffy like he hasn’t been sleeping enough, his arms have lost their muscular extravagance, as have his legs and thighs. 

“Shit, man,” Jaebum whispers under his breath.

  
  


### 2020.05.08 (Fri)... 7:00 AM | KSPO Dome - 2 Days Before Performance

They must not believe in him, they won’t let him perform full out. Is that to save them the embarrassment of seeing Jackson cringe and limp around the stage? Sure this is only practice and they don’t necessarily go full out for rehearsals when it’s mainly for the tech crew to get an idea of what’s going on, but they’re babying him. If he was the Jackson he was a few months ago, he’d soak up all the affection with a cutesy sway and several kissy faces, but not the Jackson today. He’s unapproachable and hard, mean mugging and overall difficult to maintain eye contact with. He’ll show them that he can be tough.

  
  


### 2020.05.09 (Sat)… 3:20 AM | Some Street a few Blocks Going Away from JYP

It’s a chilly night and he’s forgotten his hoodie in the rush it took to gather his things and head to the gym. He walked to not be noticed by the members or his staff; they’d kill him if they found out he walked though. The streets are quiet, the sidewalks even quieter, but it’s pretty outside. He’s stopped paying attention to the dull ache in his foot and walked on it with more weight than natural, more out of punishment for his foot not being stronger. The pain almost drives him to try harder. 

His left ear twitches when the sound of a car approaches him from behind. He expects to see it pass him by but it drives suspiciously slow on a street that should be 45mph. He glances up using his peripheral vision and sees it driving too close and far too slow for his comfort. His heart starts to beat faster. He knows he can’t run, and the knowledge has him punching himself. He’s going to have to at least try, right? Just as he’s about to make a break for it down an alley, the black car drives away and back into the far left lane. He lets out a breath of relief and nearly cries when he sees it make a left turn and drive further away.

“Seriously!”

This time he does scream, and the startling movement sends a sharp pain from his foot and up his leg. He stumbles and soon feels someone pulling him up and steady. He shoves the arms off him with a whimper.

“Jackson, stop! It’s me!” Jaebum shouts.

Jackson instantly stops struggling and loses all tension in his body, slinking against Jaebum’s hold.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Jaebum shoves Jackson back this time, his anger not caring why the other was acting this afraid or how much his foot hurt. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

Jackson looks past the glare Jaebum is throwing at him and sees their own company car waiting at the curb. Jaebum is standing close to him, glare and heat in his eyes. 

“Answer me, dammit!” Jaebum shoves Jackson again.

“Ow! I was- I was working out!” Jackson stutters out, his own anger flaring and shoving Jaebum back. “And stop pushing me!”

Jaebum scoffs but doesn’t make a move to start a bigger fight, only if it meant he could yell at the younger instead.

“You have _got_ to be _kidding_ me! Are you that fucking stupid?” Jaebum is angry, Jackson knows this, but those words have a painful punch; he prefers the shoving over this. “And what? You walked? By _yourself_?” Jaebum lets out a bitter laugh and holds the bridge of his nose before fingering his hair.

“I’m sick and tired of having to come get you all the time. It’s four in the morning, Jackson! Do you know how dangerous it is to walk out here by yourself? Oh my god, and your foot is injured! I get that you like doing the most you can, and being injured must feel like a pile on your shoulders but being out here like this is selfish, and you know that! Why don’t you ever _think_ about these things? I swear I’m done with your shit. You wanna come out here by yourself? You wanna be exhausted and hold everyone back? Go ahead, I’ll sit back and watch,” He laughs, and Jackson can finally see just how tired Jaebum is and it’s all his fault. “You’re just _asking_ for something bad to happen to you...” Jaebum mumbles

“I’m not asking for anything!” Jackson yells back. Who cares if Jaebum’s tired? He’s being hurtful and rude. “I’m fine, aren’t I? I didn’t ask you to wait up for me, I didn’t ask you to come out here, I didn’t ask you to do any of that shit! Stop _putting_ that on me! It’s you! _Your fault_ for caring too much about me, _not_ mine.” Jaebum only looks back at him with his mouth agape and brows creased in anger.

“You really are selfish, y’know that?” Jaebum doesn’t yell it, but it sends like a wave. “Get in the fucking car.”

Jackson hesitates before Jaebum grabs his arm painfully and forces the younger into the car. The driver doesn’t say anything, just heads back to the boy’s dorm like he’s told. Jaebum won’t look at him, but Jackson doesn’t blame him. It’s true, he _is_ selfish. It just hurts hearing it. The only source of hope he had to deny those allegations only validated them.

  
  


### … 7:00 AM | JYP Building - Dance Room

“You did what?” J.Y. Park reels. “Are you crazy?’

Everyone is in the dance room right now, camera crew, the boys, staff, managers, JYP - so everyone gets to see Jackson stand in the center of the room and get scolded. It’s not fair. It seriously isn’t. 

“Did you forget you’re hurt? Or was it a stunt to get attention?” J.Y. Park accuses. 

Jackson flinches but keeps silent. He knows in times like these, he isn’t supposed to argue, just listen and speak when asked to explain.

“You know I care about you? I’m not trying to be unreasonable here but what if someone followed you home and found where you live? That’s not only threatening your own life, but the lives of the other six boys. Do you think you’re better than them? Do you think that by working through the night is going to make you above them or make yourself look better? It doesn’t, Jackson. It isn’t going to heal your injury faster. Are you trying to worsen your injury? You are part of a _team_ , you are not a one man show, you are not more important than the other members, and you are not better than them. You are _GOT7_ or you are no one. Say sorry to everyone for causing a scene.”

_No one_. His reflex is to cross one arm over his stomach in a poor attempt of a half hug, but maybe that would look like an act of defiance. Even if it’s obvious he’s shaking, he only prays that no one else can see it. He apologizes quietly, thinking he’s still too loud, and everyone goes back to doing what they’re day requires. 

They rehearse their dances, going slower because Jackson’s injured, or at least that’s why they were holding back in the beginning.

“Jackson, you’re sloppy,” Their choreographer points out. “What’s gotten into you? Your _foot_ is injured, are your arms too?”

Jackson huffs a breath out of his nose and goes back to his starting position. He’s just doing his job, he’s trying to make them look good, look professional.

“I asked you a question. You’re the lead dancer, stop acting like you’re the only performer and there’s no one around you. You’re a tea-”

“I know! I’m a team!” Jackson yells.

If the other boys weren’t paying attention before, they surely are now. All their eyes snap between Jackson and their choreographer with stunned expressions.

“Do we need to have a talk and fix your attitude?” The choreographer demands more than asks.

“I’m trying my best, everyone just needs to lay off!” Jackson isn’t sure what’s gotten into him, but he can’t shut up.

He’s lost between wanting to scream and wanting to cry. He wants to pace, or run, or sit, or sleep. Being this quiet, being afraid to speak out for weeks has him bursting with a sudden need to shout. If he could close his eyes for a second and make the whole world stop and _be quiet_ so he can think, he would. He’d do it in a heartbeat. Everyone just needs to get off his back!

“Jackson, breathe,” Jinyoung says softly.

He doesn’t remember the members getting so close to him, he can’t even feel the way Jinyoung’s hands rub his cramping chest and hold his neck. But everyone’s too close, and if he can’t breathe he certainly can’t breathe with everyone taking up all the air.

“There’s enough air for everyone, don’t be silly,” Jinyoung says through a tight smile. “You just need to slow down and take your time... Hey guys, can you give him some room?”

Jackson’s head is spinning, he isn’t sure if he’s talking out loud or thinking someone replied but didn’t. He feels crushed, he feels like he has too much energy and not enough of him to contain it yet tired like he’s sinking.

“Move,” Jackson pushes Jinyoung off of him and runs out the dance room.

The boys are behind him but Jaebum puts his hand out. He leaves by himself to retrieve the panicked boy and is shocked at how far he’s gotten with an injured foot. Unless he doesn’t feel the pain right now. Jaebum knew the second he told JYP what happened it was a mistake. He only outed him because he was tired of Jackson thinking he could do whatever he wanted whenever he felt like it. He wasn’t expecting him to get shamed in front of everyone like some pet. Jackson doesn’t get yelled at often, he’s honestly a good listener and highly respectful of everyone. When he’s scolded, even lightly, he’s scolded to the bone and will change everything to make that person proud again. It’s in his nature, it’s what makes him so dyingly loyal. Jaebum feels like shit.

He makes it to the front desk and asks if they’ve seen Jackson, they say he ran out the building. That leaves Jaebum a bit lost because Jackson is nowhere to be seen. Jogging back inside, he goes to the front desk again.

“Do you know if he took a company car home or...?’ Jaebum asks.

“No, he was- oh. Well he was standing right there at the entrance. He said he needed to get some air. I was on the phone so I couldn’t talk much. Is he feeling alright?”

“Um,” Jaebum isn’t really sure how to answer that. “Call PDnim, uh, please.”

  
  


### … 9:13 AM | JYP Security Room 

“This… This isn’t- We have to call the police. Now,” J.Y. Park barely gets out.

The boys sit outside the security room in silence, lost in their own thoughts while they wait for the news.

“S-Save these and put them on a disk I can- I can give to the police…” J.Y. Park still can’t tear his eyes away from the fuzzy video playing.

There he was, standing with his hands on his knees trying to breathe. He straightens up and coughs into the air, hands interlaced behind the back of his head. A car speedily pulls over the curb and onto the sidewalk, the sliding door opening in that same motion, and pulling Jackson in quickly. And just like that, he’s gone. 

No license plate, no faces, no one to make out. No one


	3. "Will You Listen This Time?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson meets eye to eye with who's been texting him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Implied/Reference to Gang Rape, Non-Consensual Elements/Rape, Graphic Depictions of violence, Death.

# 3: “Will You Listen This Time?”

* * *

### 2020.05.09 (Sat)... 4:00 PM | Somewhere

He’s thrown up by accident and got a kick to his stomach as punishment, which didn’t help in the breath recovery from vomiting in the first place. It isn’t because of their driving, no they driver is calm, windows down, classical music playing low - he’s afraid and ended up crying himself into an upset stomach. They didn’t gag him or cover his eyes, but he honestly wished that they did in order to avoid the piercing pain threats clearly written in his captors’ eyes. They didn’t clean the mess, and it’s been nearly seven hours of driving with that acidic smell. Where could they be taking him? They haven’t even said a word or asked him questions, and he hasn’t been brave enough to start a conversation either. His arms have stopped cramping after the first two hours, now they’re numb and probably going purple.

The car stops and the back double doors are opened roughly. Quick hands pull him up and shove him out of the exit. Four men surround his four corners, leaving him the inability to escape, not that he could with the ache in his foot and dead arms. So he follows them with a limp into a woodsy area, birds chirping overhead without a clue of what’s happening. If he could understand them, could they be discussing how long he can last before they kill him? He’s taken into a normal cabin by the looks of it and is guided down into a basement, away from the birds in the windows and into the dark.

When he reaches the bottom, the lights turn on and he moves backwards up against the man pushing behind him.

“No…” Jackson breathes. “No, no, no, please. Oh God, p-please, I-”

“Shut up!” 

The man behind him shoves him off and spins him around, slapping him hard on the face. He doubles over to the side over from the force and tries to shake the dizziness out of his eyes. 

The room is everything like those horror films Mark made him watch all those years. Except it’s much beyond anything he could have ever imagined. One after the other, metal wire dog cages line the walls, all with disgustingly matted beds and chains attached to collars. Some had dark liquids covering the otherwise silver metal cages, collecting in a pool beneath the locks. He walked by cages that smelled pungent, others that smelled like a sewer. This can’t be happening. This isn’t real. This isn’t his life. 

They walk past all the cages and to a door with a small window about the size of his hand. It looks a little foggy and it isn’t until the door opens does he realize it’s a two way mirror. He’s taken into the room with nothing but cement floors and walls, no windows, ceiling lights with no light switches, nothing. Just a phone plugged into an outlet. He’s untied and shoved forward. The door shuts behind him and he’s plunged into the darkness.

The phone dings behind him, creating a blue casted glow in the dark room. He quickly goes to it, realizing he could call for help.

He pauses when he reads the text.

| Hey :) | _Today 7:02 PM_

With shaking fingers he pushes in 119 but it won’t go through. He tries again, and again, and again, he tries until his vision blurs and he can no longer see the screen. He tries to call his parents, his friends, his company, but everything ends with ‘Your call cannot be completed as dialed’.

This isn’t really happening. Jackson slaps himself. He slaps himself harder. Clenches his fists together tightly and bangs them to the side of his head.

“Wake up! Please, God, please no!”

| Ready to play? | _Today 8:00 PM_

  
  


### 2020.05.10 (Sun)... 4:01 AM | Day of KSPO Dome Performance

A loud growling fills the silent room; he hasn’t eaten or drinken since yesterday morning. He clutches his stomach and curls into himself. Are they going to just leave him in here until he dies of deprivation? He shouldn’t have lost all that weight, he doesn’t have anything left in his storages for his body to eat. He can’t survive like this. Was he too easy? Were their words lies to get him to crumble apart so he was easier to steal? He fell right into their plan like the stupid idiot he is.

Today was supposed to be the performance with KSPO Dome. They were supposed to be having fun with fans and making people happy with their music. Why’d he have to be such a failure? Were they out looking for him? Have they even realized what happened to him? If they are and did, how long would they look? 

His stomach grumbles again and he whimpers.

  
  


### 2020.05.11 (Mon)... 7:46 PM | Cement Room in Basement

“Please, I need something to drink. Please, give me something! I have so much money, I don’t need any of it. I’ll give _everything_ to you! Just please, please let me go!”

Jackson slides down, no more strength to bang on the metal door anymore. The phone across the room lights up and a surge of energy hits him. Maybe he has a signal to call the police. 

He tries but ends with the same disappointing realization.

| When are you going to learn? You won’t be found. Understand? You will. Never. Be found again. | 

| Do you know what you can do? | _Today 8:13 PM_

| You can eat and drink as much as you want. But you HAVE to respond to me and do as I say. | _Today 8:14 PM_

| Ok | _Delivered_

| Such a good boy. |

| Take off your shirt, place it into the drop box by the door and take a picture of yourself. Send it to me. | _Today 8:16 PM_

“What?” Jackson breathes.

He has to take off his shirt? It’s pitch black in here. How will he find the drop box this person is talking about?

| Use the flash on the camera baby boy. Use your big boy brain. | _Today 8:17 PM_

Oh. He feels like an idiot. A thought suddenly strikes him - he’s being watched. Jackson twirls around, goosebumps rising on his skin. Was there someone in here with him? Were they near the door. There weren’t any cameras in the room when he walked in, unless they were sma- _the two way mirror_.

With horror, he turns on the phone’s flashlight and points it towards the door. There’s someone watching him on the other side of that door, someone is standing right there, the very someone who’s been texting him since China. He can’t see them, but they’d be able to see him everytime he points the screen to his face.

| Are you not hungry? |

| | _Today 8:19 PM_

His stomach tightens at the sight of the picture. It looks so good. If it shows on his face, the person on the other side of that door can surely see it. He sets the phone down and takes off his shirt. It’s okay, he’s done this in live shows numerous times. He uses the light to find the drop box the texter was talking about and sees a small metal handle embedded into the wall. He pulls it and finds it can roll out. He thinks for a moment before putting his shirt down into it and closes the drawer with a shaking breath.

He watches the door, waiting for the person to come in. He jumps when the drop box begins to slide further into the wall. He peaks down lower and sees into the room he came into. With a gasp, he watches the hands of the texter reach into the box and lift his shirt. He sees the plate of food get placed inside and his mouth practically drools with how heavenly it smells.

“Thank you! Thank you!” Jackson nearly sobs out. 

When the metal box doesn’t slide back in, Jackson whines.

“No, no, wait. I thought you said-”

“Shh…” 

It’s a man, no doubt in Jackson’s mind now. His phone dings and he yelps

| Where’s my picture? | _Today 8:27 PM_

Right. Jackson breathes deeply. He has two choices here: take the picture of his torso for the perverted man or say no and risk not eating for another three days and die in here. He already hasn’t had water, that should’ve been the thing he asked for first.

“Okay, okay,” Jackson whispers to himself.

He turns the camera on and takes a photo of himself. Looking at it disgusts him, the act, the way he so easily is giving in, and what he’s about to do with a picture like this. Albeit, it’s nothing raunchy like the ones he received, and he’s had videos taken of him in the exact same fashion - him tilting the camera down and showing off his abs like the attention seeker everyone calls him out to be. Only now, he’s not as toned as he was and the picture makes him very uncomfortable. _There’s no fat._ Jackson wants to gasp at himself, _scold_ himself for letting those hurtful comments make him so self conscious and weak. He looks pathetic and completely incapable of protecting himself, he feels that way too.

“It’s _okay_. It’s just my stomach. It’s okay,” Jackson comforts himself.

| (Image) | _Delivered_

The metal box slides through the chamber and he quickly opens it, afraid the food will be taken back due to an unsavory photo of himself. The roast beef fills the dark room with an amazing aroma and he quickly dives into it, not even giving himself a second to savor the taste.

| Would you like some water? Don’t want you to choke in there. | _Today 8:35 PM_

| Please! | _Delivered_

| Take off your shorts, place them into the drop box by the door and take a picture of yourself. Send it to me. | _Today 8:35 PM_

Jackson pauses mid chew and stares at the screen. They’re the same instructions as his shirt. It has him slowly losing his appetite. With a rather large bite still stuffed in his right cheek, he glances at the door and wonders if the same thing will be asked of him tomorrow, because he won’t have much left to take off.

| Don’t be shy. I won’t ask for more. Promise. | _Today 8:36 PM_

He’s watching. Slowly, Jackson does what is asked of him and takes his shorts off, leaving him in only his black boxers. He puts them into the box and closes it, watching it slide the other way and hearing his returned efforts placed in. He isn’t sure how to take a picture of his...underwear area but chooses to include abs down to legs. He doesn’t bother looking at what he sends, but watches the metal box come back with not one, but two water bottles _and_ an apple.

| Because you listen so well and look so sweet, I’ve rewarded your good behavior. My good little boy. Nighty night, Jacky. | _Today 8:40 PM_

He guzzles down his first bottle and decides to save the other one in case the requests become too steep. He should’ve thought about saving his food, but he at least has an apple. The room is colder now, the cement doing nothing to warm him as he huddles in the far corner.

-

The same thing happens for a few days, the man would come back and text him a request and Jackson will get rewarded. All in the confines of his dark room. At first, Jackson truly thought he was going to have to get naked, but the man came back with his clothes freshly cleaned and a text saying how they smelled like sweat. The trouble really didn’t start until four days passed and the combination of apples and prunes and juices got the best of him. The first time he felt he needed to use the restroom, he held it in until his stomach hurt. He’s painfully constipated, only being able to pee which was fine because he kept getting new water bottles to use. But he can’t poop in one of those and his distended stomach starts to cramp and twist. He knows he can hold out for right now, but maybe by night or the next morning, he’ll be a mess.

  
  


### 2020.05.15 (Fri)… 10:17 AM | Cement Room in Basement

| I need to use the restroom | _Delivered_

| 1 or 2? | _Today 10:17 AM_

He wants to laugh at the outrageousness of this conversation, like it’s something he would get in response if he were texted Youngjae or BamBam. That thought quickly turns sour though and he tries to forget it for the moment. Most of his thoughts are pleads that they’d find him, he begs the dreams to be real but he still wakes up in the same dark place. He’s so fucking tired of crying himself hoarse or until he passes out, he’s tired of it. The pain hurts too much that he’d rather just forget about outside right now and focus on how he’s going to survive in the moment.

| 2 | _Delivered_

He shouldn’t be embarrassed, but his cheeks feel heated and he knows he’s blushing.

| Aww poor baby. Finally going to make a poo poo? You’ll have to do something for me. | _Today 10:19 AM_

Well that’s a given. Nothing he does in here is given to him for free; they all had a price. 

| Send a video of yourself playing. I want you to finish. | _Today 10:20 AM_

Either he’s daft or he doesn’t want to figure out what this text means. Unfortunately, he doesn’t need to think about it, because he’s sent another text that sends chills down his spine.

| Touch yourself until you come baby. Make a video for me. Send it to me. | _Today 10:20 AM_

Jackson doesn’t react, just stares at the screen until it goes black. 

### … 5:12 PM | Cement Room in Basement

He’s whining in discomfort, afraid to eat anything, afraid to put pressure on his stomach or sit down. Everything is unenjoyable. He’s sweating and honestly thrown into a panic. Shame is the furthest thing from his mind, and he’s tried numerous times, filmed videos that he couldn’t send because he _couldn’t_ finish. He’s cried, pounded against the door, but the man wouldn’t listen.

| I’m sorry. Please. I’ve tried but I can’t! | _Delivered_

| I really can’t. Please | _Delivered_

| I tried but it hurts. Please! | _Delivered_

| (Video) | _Delivered_

| (Video) | _Delivered_

| (Video) | _Delivered_

| (Video) | _Delivered_

This is considered weak, isn’t it? Sending whatever video he can, even if he couldn’t even get aroused, even if he couldn’t finish. But he can’t shit in here, he can’t let them beat him into being an animal like that. Having piled up bottles of piss in one thing, but he can’t have a different pile in here, he can’t live like this.

### … 5:40 PM | The Cabin Bathroom

| Good boy! Aw I’m sorry your tummy hurts. Ouchie! But you still tried and you sent wonderful videos. Such a good boy! | 

| I bet your tummy must hurt a whole lot. Well let's take care of that. Stand with your face against the back wall, hands behind your back. If you move, we will kill one of your friends. | _Today 5:40 PM_

They couldn’t! That had to be a bluff.

_“What if someone followed you home and found where you live? That’s not only threatening your own life, but the lives of the other six boys. Do you think you’re better than them?”_

Park hyung was right. Even if he doesn’t know the truth behind those threatening words, his life isn’t the one on the line and he can’t risk one of them getting hurt just because he refused to turn around.

| Okay | _Delivered_

He stands in the position he’s told and listens to the door open. His heart beats faster, fear shaking his legs. Hands find their way to his and he feels handcuffs clicking into place, the cold metal resting against his wrists. He wants to turn to face his captor, but fear tells him he doesn’t want to see him, to have his face haunt his mind. Besides, with what he just filmed to get a bathroom privilege is enough reason to hide himself from this pervert. 

He’s taken out of the dark room and back into the basement with all the foul smelling cages. He should consider himself lucky he wasn’t placed in one of those; looks like they didn’t receive bathroom access. At the other end of the basement is a bathroom, completely renovated, clean, albeit small, but clean. There isn’t a mirror which is odd, but he doesn’t feel like looking at himself anyways. The bathroom light makes his eyes shut tightly with a burn and he hisses.

“Sorry, I should’ve warned you.”

The deep, husky voice startles him and this time he does open his eyes and turn his head around. The man isn’t as creepy as he imagined him to be, actually. He’s clean, hair trimmed, clothes kempt, skin smooth. His clothes look like he has money, young money by the looks of it. It might be just a plain white T-shirt, but it’s Balenciaga and his shoes are Gucci. Why does someone with all this money need to do evil things like this? He would be considered attractive if his habits weren’t so evil and tainting. 

“Don’t you have to go?” The man asks.

Jackson suddenly blushes and looks to the toilet then to the man’s chest.

“Are you going to w-watch me…?” His voice tapers off, becoming smaller and less confident. 

“Clearly, Jackson. You can’t wipe yourself,” The man answers, obviously not bothered like the younger man.

Jackson’s eyes grow wide and he makes an even bigger effort to not meet the other man’s eyes. “I won’t run, I promise. Please, let me do this myself.”

“Don’t be embarrassed. I worked at a retirement home in my youth, I’ve seen it all,” The man chuckles but it does nothing to comfort the younger boy.

How could a man who worked for old people turn into a kidnapper? Jackson’s stomach lurches and he doubles over as a sharp cramp seizes him. 

“Come on, let’s get this over with. The sooner you become comfortable with me, the better.”

It’s terribly embarrassing, but he can’t hold off any longer and lets the other man guide him to the toilet and take off his pants. It hurts, it hurts more than any shit he’s ever had to take in his life.

“Ugh, oh my god…” He groans to himself.

He just cramps the entire way through, sweating and panting, bent over.

“It’s alright, just breathe,” The other man says calmly. He’s nowhere near Jackson, and for that he’s at least grateful for. “You’ve probably held it the longest out of all the others.”

That comment makes his head swim and he clenches his eyes shut, places his forehead on his knees. Blocking out everything is harder than he thought, but he tries to at least imagine being somewhere else even if he knows he’s stuck in a bathroom with the man who kidnapped him watching him poop. 

“I don’t think you should try getting it all out, baby,” The man laughs at a strangled grunt. “We’ll try again after dinner. How about a shower now?”

He walks over to Jackson and actually wipes him clean like he said he would. It’s so humiliating to think he’d have to do this again.

“If you have to pee or poop, let me know and I’ll let you out, okay? No more videos, I promise,” The man says, washing his hands.

Jackson doesn’t answer and the man doesn’t insist that he does, so he figures it’s an unspoken agreement. Wait, did he say something about a shower?

“Shower?” Jackson asks, still sitting on the toilet, his pants and underwear pooled at his ankles.

“Yes, silly. You smell,” The man says plainly.

The comment makes Jackson blush again and look away. He watches the water run and thinks a shower might actually be nice, even if he can’t wash himself.

He was wrong, but he’s come to realize that’s a common theme in his life. His shirt had to be cut off of him because of the handcuffs, and the only thing he could think was that Youngjae bought him that shirt for his birthday last year. Getting scrubbed by a strange man who wants to see him strip and touch himself is everything but nice. It’s frightening, humiliating, degrading, and uncomfortable. The man never lets his eyes wander, and he looks away whenever he has to wash his private areas. Jackson’s thankful the man doesn’t have any other thoughts or wandering hands, and finishes the shower with that plain objective, to clean him. 

“I got you some warmer clothes too, I bet it’s freezing in there at night. Let’s put your underwear and pants on first and you can put your shirt on back in the room,” He says.

“New clothes? W-Why are you being n-nice to me?” Jackson shouldn’t ask, but he’s curious if these new perks have a cost he’ll have to pay for later. The man must catch on and smiles, ruffling Jackson’s wet hair and making him flinch back.

“I won’t tell you what you’ll get if you do something extra, or what I want you to do, either, to get these special treats. But every time you surprise me, I’ll give you something extra. The way you tried to touch yourself was gorgeous, baby boy. Those breathy little frustrated moans you held back, oh if only you didn’t hold them back,” The man turned absolutely predatory and Jackson silently wishes he had asked those questions when he pants were all the way on. He’s shaking again and feels the burn of tears building.

  
  


### 2020.06.28 (Sun)... 11:34 AM | Cement Room in Basement

| Do you want to be set free now? | _Today 6:13 AM_

A text that has been his only thought all day. He was quick to respond, a smile actually forming on his lips at the thought of leaving this hell.

| Are you ready to know the condition? | _Today 11:37 AM_

He’s been waiting for the task all morning. He’d do anything to get out at this point.

| Have sex with the woman I sent all those photos of and I’ll free you. |

What? 

No. What the actual fuck. He couldn’t. Was she a part of this? Maybe had her husband kidnap him so she could fulfill some dark fantasy.

| (Image | _Today 11:58 PM_

_**Watch: Park Jin Young Give GOT7’s Disbanding Speech** _

After GOT7’s Jackson Wang wen’t mission on April 5th, right in front of his company building, Park Jin Young says the group is going to take a break until further notice. Could this be the end of GOT7?

  
  


His stomach drops, they can’t disband because of him! He needs to get out. He needs to…

| Okay | _Delivered_

| Good boy | _Today 12:01 PM_

  
  


### … 2:30 PM | Cement Room in Basement

He’s cuffed again, guided up the stairs into natural light. Despite being forced to do what he’s about to do, looking out the window to the trees has him jittering to be free. He’s sharply pivoted to turn left and down the hall toward a room with an open door. There are other people up here, five total, and this whole time he was alone in the dark underneath them. How could people like them exist? He’s going to turn in every single one of them and make sure they rot in prison for life.

Walking into a small bedroom, there is a camcorder set up, softbox lights over the bed with a naked woman lying in the center of it, and two men who like they were waiting for him. He averts his eyes to the floor and feels uneasy about this again. The window is covered by a curtain, the dark closed off entrapment is back in his mind and the sudden idea of not being free makes the air up here dissipate. 

_Freedom. Freedom. Freedom._ Jackson repeats to himself. When this is all over, he can run back home and into his beloved parents’ arms, cuddle with his mother, crack jokes with his friends. He can do this. 

A man stands at the doorway, gun in its holster on his hip, while the man who texts him guides him near the man behind the camera.

“I’m going to uncuff you. You run, they'll hurt you, or they'll hurt your friends - they’ll surprise you. Just do what you promised,” The texter says.

Once the cuffs are off, he stands there next to the man with uncertainty. He’s pushed to the side of the bed, where he still looks anywhere but at the woman lying there.

“Strip,” The camera guy says.

_Just do it, Jackson. Do it, and you can go home. You can go home!_

Jackson takes his shirt over his head and tosses it to the floor. Next comes his pants which takes longer to take off with his shaking and fumbling fingers, but he eventually kicks them away as well. He closes his eyes and with one more push he pulls his underwear down. Whistles and hoots fill the room, he closes his eyes tighter and feels for the bed. He finally looks down to the woman and pokes her gently. He looks to the man who texts him and earns an encouraging, albeit nervous, nod. She doesn’t stir awake so he shakes her shoulder a bit stronger. That’s when he feels her chill against his fingers. She’s stiff and cold, pale and unmoving. 

She’s dead.

“No,” Jackson jumps off the bed, only to be pushed back on by the man standing at the door. “No! You didn’t- you said she was- you didn’t say- She’s dead!”

“I never said she was alive, baby boy. I asked you to have sex with her in exchange for freedom. You agreed to it. Now if you’d rather go back into that dark room until you go blind, be my guest. But you _have_ to stop fighting back, _now_ , and do what you promised.”

“No, no, please! Please, I can’t do this!” Jackson is sobbing now. Backing away only to be pushed back onto her lifeless body. He shrieks and jumps back.

“Enough!” The cameraman shouts.

He grabs Jackson by the hair and throws him to the ground. He kicks him hard in the stomach before doing it again, three times, four, he doesn’t stop until he hears something crack. Jackson is wheezing for air but the cameraman doesn’t stop there. He grabs the young boy’s hair again and yanks him up, chunks of hair ripping out.

“Fuck the corpse or every man in this cabin fucks your brains out!” The cameraman grits out, low and gravely against his ear.

Jackson is dropped back to the floor, trying to breathe and pick himself back up. The texter comes to his aid and helps him onto the bed. Jackson cries the entire time he’s put into position and every time he makes eye contact with the dead woman below him he shudders.

“Please don’t make me,” Jackson whimpers.

His entire body is shaking, limbs feeling weak, stomach too quesy, and eyes blurry. This isn’t right, this is downright sinful. She’s dead for crying out loud, and she’s still being tortured. Being this close to her, seeing her for the first time, he realizes she looks gaunt, empty, tortured, haunted, shot in the back of the head like she was executed. They destroyed this woman long before they started luering Jackson into their inhuman grasps. Did they promise her freedom too before they killed her? This is an all new form of the horrible side of human capabilities. He knows they’re serious, he knows if he doesn’t do this he’s going to be in worse shape physically. Mentally, well, he isn’t sure which option will leave him with a bigger scar. The dead body, or the promise of gang rape with a dead body in the room. 

“Hey, breathe, baby boy. Nice and easy.” 

The man who texted him has to be the nicer one of the group, the one who seems more reasonable and therefore impressionable. Jackson keens and looks to the nicer man with begging eyes.

“I don-I don’t wanna do t-this,” Jackson pleads to the nicer man, who gets closer to his side and speaks quietly.

“I know you don’t...I know,” Nicer Man’s smile falters before something warm takes its place. “I didn’t either.”

“Hurry it up,” The cameraman bites out, making Nicer Man flinch.

“Don’t pay attention to him, I won’t let them at you,” Nicer Man brushes Jackson’s short hair back and behind his ear as best he can.

It’s awkward that he’s still hovering on all fours over this dead woman, being caressed and calmed by the man who took him, but it’s working and he’s too trusting or maybe it’s because this man has never lied to him thus far. 

“I don’t wanna do it,” Jackson repeats, trying to put his entire soul into this plea.

“I’m going to tie this blindfold over your eyes-”

“That’s not the deal!” The cameraman yells.

The man at the door places his hand on his gun, a silent threat that shit’s about to go down.

“I know it’s not, but trust me that this will help,” Nicer Man holds his hand out defensively, keeping the other on Jackson’s back. The men fall back and watch on. “Jackson, you have to listen to me right now. I _am_ going to tie this blindfold over your eyes, and then you’re going to feel my hand between your legs. I’m going to get you hard, and then lead you to where you need to go. During this entire process, you _are_ going to be a _good_ _boy._ There’s no more room for begging, no more time for trying to get out of this.”

“But I ca-”

“Jackson! _Listen_ to me! _Shut up_ ,” Nicer Man effectively shuts Jackson up and begins tying the blindfold.

The darkness helps. It reminds him of his room under the cabin. The room he’s named his new safe spot, the place where he knows it’s him and only him in that room. No one can sneak up on him, no one can force him to see things he doesn’t want to. The blindfold helps.

  
  


### … 5:56 PM | The Cabin Bathroom

| You lied! You lied to me! You made me do that and STILL left me down here!| _Delivered_

| You promised me! You promised! | _Delivered_

| You’re just like the rest of those monsters! Fucking piece of shit! | _Delivered_

| Answer me dammit! | _Delivered_

| Answer me please! | _Delivered_

| Don’t leave me in here | _Delivered_

| Can I use the restroom please? | _Delivered_

They killed him. They had to have killed him. They didn’t like the way he changed up the apparent deal he made. After it was over, after he came back to himself and was having the blindfold removed, he saw Nicer Man holding his clothes and handing them back to him. Jackson dared not turn around and kept his eyes on the Nicer Man, putting his clothes on with trembling fingers, sniffling and crying every now and then, eyes avoiding the bed like the plague. 

**“That wasn’t the deal, and you know it,” The cameraman growled.**

**“He did it, didn’t he?” Nicer Man responds. “Why does seeing it make a difference?”**

**He referred to the dead body as an ‘it’, and Jackson noticed that was for more** **_his_ ** **sake than not being able to say it himself. He didn’t miss the way Jackson would shake and whine at hearing ‘dead girl’, making him soften up and unable to properly perform. The Nicer Man wouldn’t mention it, just helped him along to get it over with quickly.**

**“I’ll- I’ll take his punishment,” The Nicer Man offers.**

**The silence is tense, choking, and causes Jackson to cry again. Nicer Man shushes him with a hand over his mouth.**

**“Fine. Take the boy downstairs.** **_You_ ** **are staying with us,” The cameraman threatens. “We’ll teach you a** **_good_ ** **lesson.”**

He’s been up there for the past two hours, he hasn’t been answering the phone, he hasn’t gotten any food at his usual time. They’re going to let him die down here.

| 1 or 2? | _Today 6:32 PM_

He could cry right now, he could cry just knowing he’s finally gotten a response. 

| 2 | _Delivered_

The door opens and he stands quickly, facing the back wall and waits for the handcuffs. Instead he’s left waiting. He turns around and sees that the man hasn’t moved, nor does he have any handcuffs in sight.

“Not today,” He says tiredly.

Jackson isn’t sure why he even tries, but his emotions are muddled and two hard to understand. Honestly...he just wants someone to hold him after what happened, instead he’s thrown in a black fucking void to wallow on the cold cement floor. Doing the first thing he can think of, he runs to the man and shoves him backwards. His ribs protest and his bruises ache terribly, but he’s angry and the one person he’s learned to provide for him lied.

“Where were you! You let that man take me and throw me in here!” Jackson pushes and punches at the man’s chest. “You let him hurt me! You promised you wouldn’t let them touch me. You fucking promised me and you left! No! You _took_ me. You put me in this hell, you took me away from my life, my friends, my family, and everything that I could have _ever_ loved and now you have the audacity to be nice to me? To act like you care!? You acted like you cared and then you left! You made me trust you…”

His energy and muscles have long since depleted, leaving him not much left to harm the other man. All he can do is gasp, throat hoarse and tight with tears that haven’t stopped flowing since thinking about his life outside of here. How could this be his life?

“I’m sorry,” Nicer Man looks off, looks like he’s genuinely guilty. He sounds both emotionally and physically hurt. “Let’s go to the bathroom.”

“I know the drill,” Jackson says with attitude.

Who cares if he hurt the man’s feelings, at this point he might be willing to do more than just hurt him. The thought makes Jackson stop his angry steps and stare at the grungy floor. Had he really thought that? Would he actually be willing to kill this man? Shaking the thought away, he continues to follow his captor to the bathroom and notices the other man has a limp to his step, making Jackson’s eyebrows crease. When the lights turn on, Jackson gasps. The man’s shirt is ripped around his neck, blood on his pants and speckled on his shirt from his bloodied nose. His face is bruised and so raw looking Jackson can feel the pain radiating off it. _This_ was the punishment Jackson was supposed to receive, the punishment this man voluntarily took for him. What had they done?

“What-?”

“Don’t you have to use the toilet?”

No ‘baby boy’, no embarrassingly blunt use of ‘poo poo’, no soft touches, no sweet words that had become the only kindness he’s been shown in this darkness. The man’s harshness makes him sound just like the men upstairs. The tears are sudden, but everything right now has been too sudden and overwhelming. They’re silent as they fall, but he does as he was asked and goes to the toilet. 

“You said ‘2’,” The Nicer Man points out.

“Guess we’re both liars,” Jackson tries to bite back, but it comes out as a sob. 

“Jackson-”

“What did they do to you?” Jackson asks, putting himself back into his pants and turning to face the beaten man.

It’s silent for a moment, the two of them staring at each other as the toilet flushes.

“Wash your hands, Jackson.”

“No!” Jackson pulls his pants down all the way and plops onto the toilet.

This man has never given Jackson a reason he’d hurt him, and from what happened upstairs, he’d go as far as to protect him as it turns out. 

“You just said you didn’t have to go number 2,” The man sighs, leaning against the doorframe.

“It’s called ‘poo poo’, and I’m going, and you’re gonna wipe my ass when I’m done,” Jackson crosses his arms, sniffling and pouting.

“Ja- baby, why are you being such a bad boy to me?” The man looks stricken by Jackson’s behavior and looks at the boy in caution.

Jackson chokes on a sob at that. He isn’t being bad. He’s done absolutely nothing bad and yet he’s being put through hell for no reason. How could this man call him bad when he’s the one who took him and brought him here to be tortured, yet he has the audacity to be nice to him, to play these mind games with him, to make him want the older man’s comfort and feel so guilty in the end. All he wants is to be held and he can’t even have that.

“N-No! ‘M not bad!” Jackson sobs, folding over and crying onto his knees.

He wants someone to take care of him, to tell him he’s going to be okay, he’s going to make it out of here and be loved by all his family again. He wants Mark to silently know exactly what he needs, to make him oatmeal, to play along with his antics and laugh at his jokes. Yugyeom might be the youngest, but he’s so mature and Jackson feels so protected next to him. He wants the only nice person here to feed him in exchange for the pouty selfies Jackson has been sending over instead of the dick pics he was asked for. He wants to be handcuffed because it makes him feel like he’s still dangerous, a threat, or at least has the chance to escape. He doesn’t want to be sitting here with his pants on the floor, crying on the toilet for his mommy. 

“That man upstairs, the one operating the camera, remember how he gave you two options? He still wasn’t satisfied with what happened. I...put out the flame, so to speak. For now. But you can’t be doing that kind of stuff again. It wouldn’t be good for either of us.”

Jackson can’t believe his ears. This man, the very man who was texting him all those mean things, sending pictures of a dead woman, kidnapped him in front of his own label, took his place. Jackson was supposed to be the one who was gang raped. After what had happened with the woman, he wouldn’t survive that too and maybe this man knew that.

“‘M sorry,” Jackson shouldn’t apologize, yet at the same time he doesn’t know this man’s story. He doesn’t know if he belongs to this group or maybe was taken from his family too. “I was- I was being mean. ‘Nd bad.”

“It’s okay, baby boy. It’s not your fault you were naughty, you didn’t know better,” He coos, rubbing circles on Jackson’s back.

“I’ll be good, I promise,” Jackson melts in the soothing touch, anything to erase the chill of that corpse.

“No promises, Jacky, just try. How about a shower? I’ll make it super warm and get you real clean,” The Nicer Man offers.

“Yes, please,” Jackson loves that idea.

“Always such good manners. Good manners from my good boy. Let’s get cleaned up.”


	4. "Good Boy"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the end of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Forced Voyeurism, Human Trafficking (should've been in the previous chapter, but now it get's very intense from here on out)

# 4: “Good Boy”

* * *

### 2020.07.07 (Tue)... 1:33 AM | Cabin

They came, the men from upstairs came into his safe space and stripped him bare as Nice Man watched in the back, while men held him back as another punched him in the stomach. They threw him against the back wall and snapped pictures of him at different angles. Lifted his legs, bent him over, spread him, then left him. He slid against the wall crying. How dare they come into his safe space and defile him, manhandle him, laugh and caress him like he was some blow up doll they kept in the closet.

They took his phone and threw it against the wall. They laughed as it broke and stomped on it just to hear Jackson beg them not to. Nice Man tried to plead too, but they gagged him and pulled out of the room and up the stairs away from the darkness that has now consumed Jackson’s mind too.

Without his phone he can’t track the days, the time, the hours or minutes. He only has the darkness around him, as a symbol that his future is nothing but bleak, void of everything he could ever possibly want. He sat in a corner, not knowing if his eyes were closed or if he'd gone blind.

If it were days or weeks, he isn’t really sure, all he knows is that they’re back and the bitter outside room burns his eyes but he’s kept moving at a quick pace. He’s pushed up the stairs and into the living room. He hasn’t been upstairs since the woman incident, he hasn’t seen this room since he was taken and was first guided downstairs. 

In this room right now are about ten men, the six from the group he was taken by and four faces he hasn’t seen before. All eyes turn to him as he tries to cover himself as best he can, but his own eyes meet Nice Man’s. 

The new group has what looks to be their leader sitting on the chair sitting across from one of the men in his group. The man in the chair takes him in from foot to head then down again, then licks his lips as he lingers somewhere uncomfortable. He’s a strong looking man, a westerner by the looks of it, and his accent is a bit unrefined to be a native Korean speaker. Even Jackson’s Korean is better than that. 

“Put ‘em in the cage out back. Red, bring me the case,” The strong man demands.

Two men approach him, guns in hand. Jackson shakes, moving away and back into the group he’s known to hate but feel at relative ease with. They’ve never really hurt him, not while Nice Man was there to take everything meant for him. He’s heard it sometimes, the moans but also the screams. They were animals, all of them, and Jackson didn’t belong here. Nice Man didn’t either.

“What’s happening?” Jackson asks Nice Man.

“Be a good boy, okay? I swear, you must do this one thing and you’ll be able to survive,” Nice Man instructs hurriedly, quietly for just the two of them to hear. “Be a good boy.”

“That’s enough from you, Chungho,” The man Jackson recognizes as the camera operator. 

It’s fast, unexpected and cruel. The bang rings in his ears, drowning out the feeling of spatter hitting his face. Nice Man- Chungho falls to the floor in a heap, blood oozing from a gaping wound in his head. 

“You got blood on his face!” 

Jackson can only stare, not understanding the words floating around him as the ringing echoes in his head.

“I’ll get a towel, sir.”

“My apologies.”

“Take the boy now.”

Jackson can’t seem to close his eyes, he can’t move them from where Chungho was looking at him not a second ago. The man that must be known as ‘Red’ brings forth a case with stacks of money, but Jackson can’t really make sense of that right now. A pair of hands grab him by the shoulders and tug him away and out of the cabin. Right before he steps out and into the fresh air, a black bag is pushed over his head. Darkness, the only thing he’s come to trust.

  
  


### Someday | Somewhere

The black market. He’s come to learn that he is lost in a world no one comes back from, nor dare speak about. He’s also come to learn why that is. The people on this side of the world, they walk underground, they deal with blood and sins, encrypted by evils unknown. 

The group he was initially taken by must have sent his photos to the man who has him now and apparently paid a hefty price for his company. It wasn’t the strong man he saw sitting on the chair in the living room. He was the muscle, the guy who did the dangerous deals for a large percentage. But it seems that this man doesn’t need to worry about sharing too large a cost, not someone this loaded. The man made bank, must’ve. His house was ginormous, far into the mountains and away from nosey neighbors. Cars galore on his driveways- driveways, as in plural. 

  
  


### : A Wealthy Foreigner

When he first met him, he was delivered on his knees, smacking them against a hard marble floor beneath him. The head covering was tugged off, his hair tousled and obscuring his vision. A Caucasian man was sitting behind a mahogany office desk, and he could see him bounding around it quickly and pushing Jackson’s hair away from his face. 

“Perfect.” 

Minty fresh breath ghosted over Jackson’s skin as the man ran his thumb over his plump lips, raw from nervous biting, but the man didn’t seem to care. He did, however, frown at the hollowed cheeks Jackson has been reduced to. His eyes were frightened and full of distrust, dark circles that appeared more theatrical than real, and his jawline jutted out sharper than before. He felt these things too, he felt the way his stomach wouldn’t fold when he bent forward, the way his thighs no longer touched. He sees his small wrists and fears for his inability to defend himself without breaking in the process. 

“Don’t worry, you’re still perfect.”

Jackson wasn’t sure how the man could see his insecurities so plainly. He had practiced for years how to perfect his mask, to keep it in place in fear of someone seeing and feeling like too much of a burden. Perhaps it was the result from being in the dark for so long. Not being able to see himself, not being able to know if he was truly frowning or making some odd expression. He’s lost his ability to hide behind that mask of indifference. A shudder runs through his body, misinterpreted as a chill from the man who gives him his jacket.

The man was lanky, tall, and foreign. Luckily for Jackson, he knew English and could understand him perfectly fine, but made no effort in letting the other man know that. Not after hearing comments like: ‘baby doll lips’, ‘help me daddy eyes’, and a ‘fuck me twink body’. Despite those claims, the man never touched him. He apparently had women for that job, and the thought made him sick but he’s honestly grateful and not going to risk changing that. He also had women come bathe and clothes Jackson in something tight at the bottom but large and oversized up top. He felt warm and protected in his sweater, it offered him the imagination that he was bigger than he was in actuality. 

Things really didn’t get weird until he was brought outside to meet this wealthy foreigner in the front courtyard. His front yard was massive, completely decked out with beige stone driveways leading to a path to his front gate that had to be a football field’s length away. Neatly trimmed hedges lined the fences around the perimeter, fountains on the grass surrounded with colourful flowers. If it weren’t such a terrible situation, he’d feel like he was shooting a music video in Hollywood. The two men who brought him out dispersed but didn’t go far, still holding their weapons in hand as a constant threat that one wrong move can end his life in seconds. Definitely Hollywood flare.

“My name is Chris,” The wealthy man introduces, turning Jackson’s attention away from the armed men. 

He’s so tall, too. Taller than Yugyeom even...unless maybe the kid has grown since he’s last seen him. Jackson frowns sadly. 

“Do you not like your new clothes?” Chris asks.

Even though he does, Jackson tilts his head like he doesn’t understand and a bright smile appears on the man’s face.

“Aw, you adorably lost thing,” Chris coos. “Your clothes,” Chris tugs on his loose fitting shirt, then his pants before offering a thumbs up. “You like? Are they your style?”

“Oh,” Jackson pretends to get it and nods his head. “Yes. I like.”

“Good,” Chris claps his hands. “That’s wonderful to hear. Let’s get to business, yes? I’ve waited so long for you. Do you know how to drive?” 

He makes driving motions with his hands, gesturing to the car. Jackson stands there awkwardly, wondering if he should give up the charade and admit he knows the other man’s language, but he isn’t so sure if he’d get punished for lying so he stays silent.

“Can he drive?” Chris asks his henchmen, his gestures halting and expression no longer smiley. 

“Papers said he’s 25, sir,” One of them replies. “He could have a license.”

“Good enough. Get in the car,” Chris says. He goes to the other side and gets in, waiting for Jackson to get into the driver’s seat. “C’mon,” He gestures for Jackson to come in.

Once inside, he closes the door and puts on his seatbelt, looking to Chris expectantly. Chris laughs and gestures to the button where the keys would go and Jackson wonders if this is a trick, if he’s really going to be able to drive. If he can drive out of here, he would screw the guns basically pointing at his head and bust through the gates. The man beside him doesn’t seem to be holding any kinds of weapons. He pushes the button but nothing happens. The engine stirs several times but it never roars. He tries again, eyebrows furrowed and foot holding down the break. It’s electric, isn’t it? Maybe it isn’t charged? He really isn’t sure how these things work. 

“Charge? No work- woah!” Jackson tries to sound like he knows broken English but he quickly swallows his words when he turns to the passenger seat.

The man is touching himself, a hard on clearly visible in his pants. Jackson turns away with blushed cheeks, checking the side view mirrors if the henchmen are still outside.

“Why?” Jackson honestly can’t get out more than that even if he wasn’t pretending. 

Chris is actually taking himself out, stroking himself freely. 

“Poor boy,” Chris moans. “Why can’t you get the car to start?”

“I- I,” Jackson stutters, looking out his window, clutching the wheel tightly. “P-Privacy, please.” 

“I don’t mind, Jacks. Daddy just thinks it’s so cute watching you try to turn on this hard car. Do you need me to fix it for you? Do you need a smart man to help?” Chris gasps.

“P-Please no,” Jackson unbuckles his seatbelt, ready to step out.

“Good idea, let’s check under the hood,” Chris doesn’t put himself away, just eagerly follows Jackson out of the car.

Jackson goes to the hood, quickly wanting to get this over with, averting his eyes every time Chris moves into his vision. He puts his fingers at the crack and tries to lift it up but it won’t budge. It’s also hot against his fingertips and he pulls them away with a hiss.

“Oh, hey, don’t hurt yourself,” Chris is suddenly very serious, moving forward to grab Jackson’s hands in his.

His fingers are wet and Jackson pulls back sharply.

“N-No, no. I, um,” Jackson stutters, butt hitting the hood as he backs up.

He turns around quickly and looks to the hood again, Chris taking himself back in hand at Jackson’s obvious discomfort.

“You need to pop the hood, Jackson. Want me to show you where?” Chris asks.

Jackson calms his heavy breathing, sweat gathering on his brow and upper lip. His sweater is turning against him. Chris steps beside him and places a hovering hand over the hood.

“Pop,” Chris says, motioning with his hand the hood popping up. “Push the button on the door.”

“O-Oh,” Jackson can’t believe how dumb he is. Of course he needs to push the hood button first. Maybe the man’s actions really are taking his fluency out of his mind.

He goes to the driver’s door and pushes the button, hearing the trunk pop open instead. Cursing, he calms down and presses the correct button. This man won’t touch him, he specifically said he has women here for that. He needs to calm down. If all this man wants to do is jerk off in his presence and dress him fancy then so be it. It has to be better than his previous place. He freezes, caught thinking of Chungho. He shakes his head and goes to the trunk to close it before walking back to the front. Whatever, Chungho brought him into this mess in the first place, maybe it’s better that he’s gone. Jackson finally has the hood open and rolls his sleeves up. 

“Are you hot? Maybe you should take your sweater off,” Chris suggests but Jackson makes no move to follow. “Hey. Hot? Take this off.”

Chris lifts Jackson’s sweater off his stomach with one hand, the other still touching himself. The look in his eyes tells the younger boy that he really has no choice. He looks to the men keeping watch and takes a deep breath. Jackson grabs the sweater’s hem and brings it up and over his head, arms coming out one at a time. Even though he lost all that weight, he still has some of his muscle tonnage. His pale skin burns against the sun, and he wipes more sweat from his brow.

“I don’t know how,” Jackson says, gesturing to the car. “Please, I can’t.”

“Do you need me to help?” Chris asks. “Help?”

Jackson only nods, holding his sweater over his stomach protectively. 

“Say ‘Daddy help’ and I’ll help you,” Chris demands with a slow and careful voice. “Say ‘Daddy help’.”

“D-Daddy help?” Jackson asks, taken back by the demand.

“Yes,” Chris moans.

“Daddy h-help,” Jackson says quietly.

“Oh, Jackson,” Chris gasps. “Beg me.”

  
  


### : A Reward of Sorts

He was given two hours in the bathroom, he could do anything he wanted, Chris said with a suggestive wink. Jackson immediately took a hot shower, so hot his skin turned pink. He hated that experience. He hates all of this! How could someone think this was okay to force on someone? Jackson scrubs hard on his stomach, using more soap than was probably necessary, but he doesn’t care. He wants that man’s...he wants that man off of him. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough to feel like it stained his skin forever. 

Afterwards, Chris told him he had a car kink. At first, Jackson thought it was thinking cars were sexy and having intercourse with them or something. But Chris had explained that he loves seeing a helpless boy not know how to start a car. Boys are supposed to know how to do these things, their father’s should have taught them. But he likes those mama’s boy types, the ones that cry easily or whine a lot. Jackson felt personally attacked. Chris said he won’t ever touch him, not if he doesn’t want it, but he will be forced to recreate different kink fantasies whenever Chris needs him. 

Chris needed him often apparently. Jackson was always dressed in tight bottoms, loose tops, sometimes he’d make Jackson go swimming, or be his caddy. Honestly, Jackson felt like he was someone's sugar baby and that this is what it must feel like. He wasn’t asked to speak anymore, and Jackson prefered it that way, they simply fell into routine. Wake up, eat, get bathed and dressed, then try to start one of his many cars. Sometimes Chris would make him drive the car around his lot until it ran out of gas or the battery died - something would happen and it was all because Chris would sabotage his own car to play out some fantasy. This was better, though. Things could be worse.

Then the day came when Chris told him he was on an ‘auction block’. Jackson wasn’t sure what that meant, but it left a bitter taste in his mouth and fear in his stomach. He didn’t sleep properly for weeks until finally someone was driving up Chris’ expansive road and into his roundabout. 

“Jacks, time to go,” Chris came in to say. 

He was cuffed with his hands in front of him and attached to a chain that cuffed his ankles. A leather muzzle was strapped to his head, making him unable to speak. They were rough, and handled him like an animal. Chris came to his ear and whispered the same thing Chungho had told him, but this time it felt more like a warning, a token of advice he should obey as if his life depended on it.

“Be a good boy, Jackson. Listen carefully,” Chris’ voice wavered.

  
He straightened up and stepped back, waving Jackson off with a bright smile like he was going to college or something. The first time it happened, Jackson wasn’t really sure what to think of it, but now he’s positive. He’s being sold. Chris must’ve gotten bored of him, of doing the same fantasy, of not being able to communicate. He fucked up. Chris might’ve been the only one who would have let him go, or maybe he would have ended up in this same scenario anyways. Be a good boy. Jackson thought he was being good. He’s been good. He’s been good and both Chungho and Chris have betrayed him anyways.


	5. “Plaything. Nothing more. Everything less.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson is sold to a man who wants to do nothing except use him for his own twisted pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Explicit depictions of violence and language, Rape/Non-con Elements, Torture, Mentions of Child Pornography

# 5: “Plaything. Nothing more. Everything _less._ ”

* * *

### Hell. 

A place to be said that burns. _Everything_ burns. 

The sore tears that fall are smacked and beaten.

Whimpers and mules are choked out and muted.

Hell.

  
  


When he first arrived he wasn’t sure who was in charge, each individual person moved like they were part of a machine that ran together as a whole. It was a dungeon, the place of their operation. An old building near the ocean of an island he’s never visited before. If he’s still in South Korea, he isn’t sure; he was in a drugged fog the entire transit, barely coherent enough to know when he pissed or should stop himself from choking on his own drool, but they made sure he was aware when he arrived. If hours, weeks, _months_ have gotten away from him, he doesn’t know. He only knows the burn.

The chains were gone but the muzzle still trapped his clammy lips. 

They stripped him of his nice clothes Chris gave him, through them in a trashcan and burned them. He watched the black smoke rise at the same moment he felt the fire. A power hose shot hot water at him, liquid fire making scream and writhe in agony. He tried to block the stream with his hands only for them to be pried away and held tightly, leaving him exposed to the full onslaught of pain.

They scrubbed him raw. Clawed at his skin with singed rags until he couldn’t feel their touch anymore. He gasped and choked on the spit he couldn’t swallow in time before a white cream was lathered on his entire body. It itched and burned his inflamed skin, and then they clawed that away with the same singed rags again. Leaving him shaken and coughing. The muzzle is suffocating, sending him into a panic with no end. He underappreciated Chungho and Chris. He should have begged them to make him stay. He’d go back, he’d do whatever they wanted. He’d fuck the dead girl with eyes taped wide open if he knew he’d end up here.

  
  
  


### : Here.

  
  


Whips left their marks across his back in lines of blood, black and blue bruises, and frayed flesh that peeled back when he slept - if he slept. A lash for every scream, a lash for every time he moved. He’d clung to the ground until his nails ripped from their nail beds, sweat dripping off him like a shower, his body shaking with the effort to hold everything in until he absolutely couldn’t and he passed out from clenching too long.

It isn’t fair! It isn’t fair! It isn’t fair!

How could he be silent when the feeling of his skin ripping and tearing automatically sent screams up his throat? His body convulsed when he first had a seizure. The concern wasn’t if he was mentally alright, it was if they had to throw him away and find a new ‘Plaything’. Their personal doctor said it was a psychogenic seizure. That happened because of his reaction to the pain. His torturers weren’t pleased to hear that and left him in a silent room for days as punishment. 

He had nothing but a mirror to look at. To torture himself with as he watched himself go mad. They left food just out of his reach, just at his fingertips when he stuck his arms out from the prison bars that they caged him in. He figured out how to dislocate his shoulder and eventually ate and drank without thinking of if he was even allowed to do so.

Each day after that, he was given rules that he must absolutely abide by no matter what.

  1. The word “No” does not exist. Do everything Master says.
  2. You are a plaything for Master. Nothing more. Everything less.



They beat him for crying, for saying he was sorry. Turns out they were tearing him down, getting him ready for ‘Master’. Breaking him like a wild horse from hell. The sounds of their footsteps alone made him whimper and shake terribly. 

_Be a good boy._

He tried. He tried so hard to be good. It’s impossible to follow their expectations. They tell him to do something but beat him for doing it. They play mind games, make him untrusting to even himself. He hasn’t heard his name in any of the time he’s been here. Not a sweet word, no calm voice, no soft touch. Everything burned! It was rough and calloused. He was cold and already dead by the time the news came.

Master was ready to see him.

  
  


### : Plaything

Hell. 

He did something very bad to end up here. Thought’s of having been such a bad person at some point of life drowns him in anxiety. He’s been so fucking bad and he’s sorry to everyone for ever having crossed paths with him. He’s not a good boy. He’s filthy, rotten, spoiled, trash.

The day he met Master was like meeting a demon. The man was a predator. Gnarly, mean, strong, and overpowering. 

He was a member of a child pornography website. However in Jackson’s case, Master was part of a blackmarket rape site. He films himself raping boys in numerous scenarios of any age. They’re never real scenarios, no, no, that’s too domestic and sweet. The first day they met, he tied Jackson to a wooden X and had his way with him the entire day.

Jackson begged, he screamed, he sobbed, drooled, and pissed himself into another seizure. Master removed his muzzle and didn’t ask if he was okay when he regained consciousness. He shoved his erection in his mouth and let Jackson choke. It was torture. 

He was electrocuted with cow prods and electrodes in his most private places. He was pulled apart and defiled with so much ferocity he feels like he must've done something so terrible to have deserved this. Jackson started to say sorry over and over again. The last remaing thought running in his mind. His only response to being bent over a bar and tied there, unable to move. Sorry. His only response to being abused. Sorry. When his legs cramped from being over his head, stuck for hours and hours as he was tortured. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. He wishes he could forget his name.  
  


### Day after day.

Chunks of hair have been ripped from his head. It’s only now that he realized how long it’s gotten, how the brown has grown out so much it’s practically half black and half brown..

Day after day.

Something tore him open today. The tearing didn’t stop the playing. Master said he deserved it anyways. 

Day after day.

He’s gotten better.

Day after day.

Master called him a good boy today. Maybe being good really means to be bad. But it felt good when Master said it. It felt right.

Day after day.

He orgasmed twenty times today for Master. He feels so empty but Master says that’s why he’s here. That’s why he’s here.

Day after day.

…

Day after day.

…

Day after day.

“The audience is done with you. You’ve lost all your ratings. They say you look too dead so go back to your cage, I’ll get you when I’m ready.”

  
  


A man and a woman have come to buy him. Jackson is carried into their car.

  
  



	6. "Mama and Papa"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If this is Stockholm Syndrome, Jackson might be okay with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Dubious consent, Voyeurism, Pet Play.

#  6: “Mama and Papa”

* * *

He listens right away, it makes Mama and Papa super, super happy. He’s taken to their country home, which is bright and open. The feeling of the sun on his bruised and scarred skin makes him depressed and unworthy. He shouldn’t get his hopes up of it lasting too long. He avoids taking in his surroundings, avoids the pain that will follow of never seeing any of it again.

Mama says they’re in Busan now, and it’s the first piece of outside information Jackson has ever gotten. He isn’t really quite sure what he’s supposed to do with it so he says okay and they move on. He’s taken to a bedroom with bars on the window and bars for the bedroom door. There’s a bathroom attached to the room, a bed, desk with books, and a wardrobe. It’s small and basic, but he wasn’t asking for anything to begin with.

Papa takes his attention away and asks for his name.

“Plaything,” Jackson whispers, his voice hoarse and wrung dry from screaming.

“What was it before that?” Papa asks, voice like sweet honey milk tea. He suddenly wants to please these people who look at him so softly. 

“Jackson,” He looks at his bare feet, scrunching the carpet with his toes.

“I like that name,” Mama smiles. “Are you hungry, Jackson?”

“Yes! Please!” Jackson quickly answers. 

He bites his tongue at his harsh and needy voice, but Mama and Papa only smile at each other before Mama walks closer to Jackson. He flinches harshly under her gaze, heart rate speeding up when her hands encase his face, making him keep eye contact with her. He begins to cry and squirm in his place, fingers wringing each other in nervous energy. Mama kisses his lips softly and pulls back with a kind look in her eyes. It’s too kind, too kind and undeserving so he cries not knowing what else to do. Papa coos and says he’ll start on dinner and Mama only hums, pulling Jackson into a hug, rocking them from side to side. It’s the first hug he’s had in God knows how long and he turns to mush in her arms. It makes him think of his own mother and now he’s a sobbing mess, just like some abandoned child.

“I want my mommy!” Jackson cries, clinging to the woman tightly. “Please let me go!”

“I’m sorry, Jackson, but I’m your mama now, remember? You’re making me sad…” Mama’s voice becomes soft and hiccups follow.

Jackson sniffs and looks up, his own tears forgotten at the sight of her’s. He’s been a bad boy already, and to the people who have shown him nothing but kindness. Bad. He’s so, so bad. Terrible, bad boy. He should’ve listened and tried to be good. It shouldn’t be hard to be good! 

“I’m sorry, Mama,” Jackson whimpers. “Please don’t cry! You’re my Mama. Mama!” 

Jackson cups Mama’s face in his hands and kisses her lips as softly as she kissed him, even if his lips are covered in the mess of his sobs. Mama smiles, a look in her eye Jackson can’t identify but figures it must be her version of appreciation. And just like that, Mama and Papa have Jackson wrapped around their fingers, and he would beg to keep it that way.

###  : Watch

It was weird looking at the people he’s been calling Mama and Papa have sex. But it’s what they want from him, and that only. After the first few weeks, he’s been slowly becoming more comfortable around them - a curse he can’t stop himself from doing. 

Mama told him he needed to take off all his clothes and come into the living room when he was done. She left after that request and Jackson started to tremble again. They were going to hurt him just like Master did. It was happening again, and again, and again. He’s been so good! 

“Jackson, Mama and Papa are waiting,” Mama calls to him.

Her sickly sweet voice has become his slow undoing. Making him trust the only kindness he’s come across so she can manipulate him just as sinful as the rest. But he hurries, not wanting to see how creative they are with punishments. Master always did something new, made his head hurt with the amount of stress he couldn’t handle.

He walked into the living room naked and cold and stared directly at the leash in Papa’s hands. The baby blue collar had his name on it, with little diamonds around it. 

“This is yours,” Papa said like it was the best thing to happen, and maybe it was. A collar meant that they wanted to keep him, didn’t it? It meant they loved him.

Once on, the collar has never been taken off. He’s taken from room to room, following Mama and Papa, or whichever one of them wanted his company, all with the tug of his leash. He doesn’t find being nude uncomfortable anymore, maybe it’s because Mama and Papa don’t make it a big deal. They say this is how he should always be, that he looks very handsome this way.

The first time his leash was tied to a chair, he was forced to watch Mama and Papa have some very quick sex. They fell asleep after and forgot about him being there. That hurt his heart in ways he couldn’t comprehend so he began to whimper, calling out to Mama. She awoke looking guilty, not mad, and cooed at him for being a good boy and not untying himself.

It didn’t get fuzzy until he was watching them one night and Mama noticed he was hard. She asked if he liked watching them and Jackson didn’t know how to answer, mumbling things Mama and Papa couldn’t hear. He didn’t like watching them, or so he thought, but the noises and the scene always looked like they really loved each other, that they cared about each other and next thing he was so suddenly aroused. That’s when it became a thing. 

Mama and Papa would let him watch, then Mama would untie him and bring him to the warm bed. He didn’t complain when she laid him down on the wet places because it was better than the burn of a whip, he just closed his eyes as Mama and Papa touched him. He’d beg and they’d answer with vigor. Soon, he loved watching, he loved waiting, and he loved how they treated him so kindly with such attentive care. They never put anything in him, never made him go down on them. They just gave him feather touches and he’d come undone.

  
  


###  : Bad Bye

Mama and Papa were moving back to Canada and Jackson wasn’t allowed to go. He ignored Mama and Papa for as long as he could until he felt bad and ran to them choking on apologies. 

He didn’t want to believe it, but Mama and Papa were in serious debt and had to run from a very bad man. He has to believe it though because Mama and Papa said they’d never lie to him. They said he’d be delivered to a new owner, someone who they unfortunately couldn’t background check. 

The shakes were back and Jackson soon found himself panic thinking of who would buy him now. These kinds of goodbyes are always bad. He’s come across people who aren’t half bad, even if what they’re doing is illegal and inhumane. Jackson considers them the better side of this world, a part of the world that is so close to his old life. These are bad byes and he hates them. 

Mama and Papa kiss him and he apologizes that he’s so sloppy but he’s sad and throws a tantrum because Mama and Papa can’t just put him in a moving box and take him with them. He’d survive transit in a box, he could do it. But they said no and gave him another bad bye.

Mama and Papa are always right, and a man is outside ready to deliver him. He doesn’t want to go but he can’t fight it when a needle pierces his neck and sends him into his only constant. Darkness.

  
  



	7. Don’t F- with Cats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Mama and Papa out of the country, the first person willing to buy Jackson has arrived to take him home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Torture, Animal Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Vivid Depictions of Horror, Explicit Language

# 7: Don’t F- with Cats

* * *

There was no delivery man. The man who showed up and drugged him was alone. He lived in an abandoned cabin, with the doors broken in and windows boarded shut. He didn’t speak to him much, he didn’t ask for anything. He just stared at Jackson with the devil in his eyes. He’s never been in the presence of evil like this. Master was evil, Master was hell, being forced onto the dead woman was hell - _this_ was where evil is born. He has to be in the presence of Satin. This satanic man is not balanced in the head, he’s so beyond this world that Jackson almost feels bad for him. Almost.

Every seven days, Jackson’s been counting to understand the pattern after the first few weeks. He’s learned that every seventh day, whether it be a Sunday or some random day of the week, this man tortures an animal. It’s like a broadcast or cooking channel of sorts. Jackson threw up the first time, the third time, the sixth, but the man never cared. He left Jackson tied to a wooden chair and continued his little show. He’d speak to himself in low, hushed whispers, sometimes yelling out then going back to himself. His voice would change sometimes and he’d sound so dark, so dangerous that Jackson peed himself uncontrollably. 

There are basic things he’s given: food, water, a toilet. The food is mostly canned, mostly spoiled. The water is brown or murky and tastes fishy like a lake. The toilet looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in years, and it probably hasn’t been. He’s allowed these things when asked, it’s the only thing the man will listen to. Right after he’s finished, Jackson will be tied to the chair again, ropes tight and digging into his legs, arms, and chest. He’ll sit in front of a fold up table where the man performs all his experiments. 

Today he’s brought an alive cat. It’s fluffy, grey, and reminds him of Jaebum’s. The man seems excited, his camera pointing to the table where a large pot is boiling water. It’s unexpected, or maybe anyone could have seen it coming and Jackson wanted to believe it wasn’t so. This man wrapped some sort of tong around the cat’s neck and forced it into the boiling water while it’s head was allowed air if only to scream. Jackson flinches back in the chair, the sound of the cat’s screams impossible to block out. 

“No! Stop! You’re killing it! Stop!” Jackson screams.

The man only laughs. He laughs in that deep voice he knows belongs to the devil. The smell alone could make him vomit, but it’s when the man starts eating its nowhere near cooked body does Jackson lose it. He eats its fur and guts like it’s his last meal.

Because of Jackson’s reaction to this, the man has been doing it more and more. Figuring out different ways to shock and appall his one man audience. Where he’s uploading these videos, he isn’t sure. He really prays there aren’t other people out there watching this like some addictive drama. 

### -

He must be growing bored by Jackson’s lack of reactions recently, as he’s started making Jackson participate. Jackson killed his first cat today. He cried the entire way through it, praying that it’s soul will not suffer. He killed it fast and painlessly and let the evil man hack it’s limbs up and throw it into a blender. He was always so creative but maybe that’s how evil felt. The outrageous actions are too uncommon for it to be anything but creative. Vacuum sealing them while they meow for air, burn them, microwave, boil, fry, electrocute. Sometimes he skins them whole sometimes he eats it raw, fur included. 

### -

A lot of terrible things have happened to him, things he could never fathom being real, things that his mind can’t make sense of. Today, tops those. He’s been tied with coarse ropes and thrown into a small bathtub. At first, Jackson thought that today would be the day he dies by drowning in a bathtub. He didn’t expect the thuds of body parts falling on top of him. Their congealed blood smacking him and spattering against the dirty tub. He screams and kicks, trying to get away from the appendages and pelts but the ropes dig into his skin and prevent him from moving. He’s left there for two days with the smell of rotting flesh stuck in his mind, only the sound of the devil’s laughter following him.

Things only escalate from there, the man eating up the torturous screams of the young man. It feels like one thing after the other keeps happening to him, he has to remind himself that it’s seven days that pass, six days that are supposed to provide peace and time to breathe. Turns out the six days were just as torturous as the seventh. He’d sit in that chair and think about what that man might do next. He begins to spiral, thinking that he’s going to end up just as evil. He’s beginning to think of ways to kill cats too, just to save himself from the shock and awe of seeing it happen. But now he’s a monster too.

### -

  
  


Today is different. No cats. The man must’ve grown bored of that.

  
  


People are different. They’re new. And Jackson feels like he lost against the man again.

“Choose,” The man hisses in Jackson’s ear.

Jackson looks at him with wide eyes. _Choose?_

“C-Choose what?” Jackson stutters.

There’s a child and possibly his mother standing in front of him. They’re both crying, the woman begging profusely not to hurt them. The man brings out a gun and Jackson jumps in his chair, at the sudden change of events. When did he have a gun?

“The _boy_ or the _woman_! Choose!” He screeches.

Now all three of his victims are crying, the child now screaming at the loud noises of the room.

“I can’t! I can’t!” Jackson begs.

“Please, choose me! Don’t let him hurt my boy!” The woman wails.

It isn’t Jackson’s fault. He has no power here, can’t she see that? He’s tied to a _fucking_ chair with shit on his pants! He can’t even sleep now. Everything has become too real and now he has to choose between two innocent people? And then what? What happens after?

“Choose _now_ or I’ll kill your parents!” 

The man smacks the gun against Jackson’s head, sending stars in his vision. He shakes his head, trying to clear his vision. That’s impossible. There is no way he can hurt his parents.

“You wanna see? You wanna see?” The man is suddenly happy. Jumping up and down, swinging the gun in the air. 

A shot it fired and everyone screams, the man laughing maniacally. A phone is shoved in Jackson’s face and as clear as day he can see his parents in their home, right through the window. It’s night time and they’re eating dinner together. Jackson hiccups, wanting to reach out and hold that screen in front of his eyes forever. The man pulls the screen away too soon and Jackson sobs.

“Choose or they’re dead,” The man points the gun to the phone suggestively and Jackson shakes his head.

“I can’t. I can’t,” Jackson cries.

“Choose me! Pick me. Please let my son go and take me!” The woman crawls to Jackson’s legs and begs, holding him tightly.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jackson repeats.

“Choose!”

“Take me!”

“Mommy! Mommy! I wanna go home! Mommy!”

“Choose me!”

“Choose!”

“Choose!”

“Stop! Stop!”

“Choose or they die!”

“Stop!”

“Pick me!!”

“Mommy!”

“CHOOSE!”

“The woman!” Jackson screams. “I choose the woman, dammit!”

Jackson hangs his head and cries quietly, the room going deathly silent. He’s killing a human today. He’s sending someone to their death and they have no idea what’s about to be done to them, hell, not even Jackson knows.

“Up,” The man points his gun at the woman and she breathes heavily.

“Thank you,” She says to Jackson before getting up slowly, hands near her head in surrender.

The man cuffs the woman’s hands inside the fireplace’s metal design and goes over to the boy still in front of Jackson. The man whips the gun through the air and smashes it into the child’s head, sending the boy to the ground.

“No!” The woman screeches. 

She yanks and pulls against the cuffs, but it does nothing but tear at her skin.

“You monster! I said take _me_! Please! My baby, please not my baby, no, no, no. You liar, you liar!”

“I chose, like you said. Why are you-” 

The man goes behind Jackson, grabs a hand, and breaks a finger. The younger boy screams out and writhes in the chair _,_ trying to pry his hand away from the ongoing pain.

He goes back to the child and kicks him hard in the stomach. The kid is already unconscious from the first blow, and Jackson should consider the kid lucky but he knows what’s coming and he feels wrong for thinking it. What this man does is cruel and brutal. Bones snap, the woman screams, and Jackson closes his eyes trying to find what’s real in his life, because this can’t be it. The warmth pooling at his feet is nothing, he’s imagining it. He’s imagining all of this.

“Please no! Stop! Stop!” The woman screams.

He hears clothing tear, more screams, then grunts and screams and he looks up to the ceiling. Why? Why was he chosen for this? 

It goes on for hours. The man leaving then coming back to hurt the woman more. She’s stopped begging him and he hasn’t opened his eyes. The crack followed by silence makes them open again, though, and he sees the woman lying dead and her head turned at an unnatural angle. 

“Oh God,” Jackson whispers, looking back up even though his neck is tired and sore.  
  


  
  


### : Punishment

  
  


“You didn’t listen. You didn’t listen,” The man seethes in Jackson’s ear. “If I say choose, you listen.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jackson apologizes, eyes shut tight.

“Bad!”

Jackson flinches at the booming voice and shrinks away with a shaking head. He isn’t bad. He was forced into all of this. He isn’t bad. He’s good. He’s good. He’s _good._

He’s being untied from the chair and roughly pulled to his feet with his knees cracking and hips spasming. He groans at the movement but has no choice but to follow the hard grip on his body. He’s taken to a back room and thrown into a closet. The door shuts and leaves him in the dark, only small slivers of light coming through the slats of the closet door.

“You deserve this. Don’t say no to me again,” The man growls.

Jackson was wrong to think his punishment ended with being locked in a closet. The door is opened and a bag is thrown in beside him, landing deftly before the door is closed once again. Towels are shoved under the closet to block the gap underneath and a chair is wedged under the handle to keep it locked.

“What- Ah!”

He feels something run up his arm then another under his shirt. More of that crawling, itching feeling creeped onto his neck and face. He quickly stands and bangs on the door, rubbing and jumping to get the insects off him. He screams and punches the door so hard he must’ve broken another finger. His fingers drag over his skin, down the walls and door with bloody and broken fingernails. He can’t stop screaming even though it only gives the insects a new entrance to explore. 

### -

  
  


He doesn’t know how long he’s kept in the closet until the door opens and he runs out brushing and smacking off every insect he sees. He panics more now that he sees they have been centipedes and spiders. Some of them bit him but they must not have been poisonous, a very unfortunate discovery. Even with every bug gone, he feels them crawling on his skin and in his clothes. He stripped off everything, not caring if the dangerous man was watching. He shook his clothes free of anything else and slowly, cautiously pulled them back on. Shoving his fingers down his throat, he vomits as much as he can, gagging more when he sees bits of bugs coming up.

“Don’t disobey,” Is all the man says before bringing Jackson back to the chair.

  
  


### : The Line

It’s been some time since that day with the woman and child, since the bugs. Some time. Jackson doesn’t really care for the days or the time. He’s stopped caring about his health, stopped forcing himself to eat even though he’d just throw it back up anyway. He’s come to the line a long time ago, it didn’t take long to push him past it. 

The man comes back with another cat, Jackson’s not surprised. The poor thing is skinny beyond belief, fur all matted and covered in dirt. If he were to pass it on the street he would’ve thought it was dead. Just as every seventh day goes, he sets up the stage and prepares his main act. 

“Don’t look away,” The man grins, but his eyes make Jackson’s heart stop for a second.

He’s been getting a lot of orders lately. Anything for Jackson to mess up and end up back in the closet. Today looks like another challenge.

The cat is meowing weakly, most likely on the brink of death anyways. It's probably had a life of nothing but hardship and struggle, and it’s here about to die a slow and cruel death. 

Taking a limb from the front and back, the man just starts pulling in opposite directions. The cat meows louder but the man keeps going. The joints pop and crack and Jackson averts his eyes for a _second_. The man drops the cat and stabs it’s head quickly.

“Disobeyed me?” The man seethes, pointing his finger accusingly. “You disobeyed me!”

“It was only a second!” Jackson defends, already shaking. “I’m sorry! Please not the closet. Anything but that!”

“I have something better for you,” The man smiles and the look has his mind drifting somewhere far.

The man pulls out his phone and holds it in front of Jackson’s face. The sound of the number dialing ends and a voice picks up. At first, Jackson doesn’t recognize it, but then it hits him.

“Hello?” Mrs. Wang answers. “Hello? Who is this?”

His eyes tear up and he opens his mouth to respond. Gunfire rings out on the other end of the line and the sound of his mother screaming right before another shot is heard and all goes silent. 

The same surveillance footage is shown of his parent’s home and he breaks. He doesn’t want to look but he can’t turn his eyes away. Jackson killed his parents. It’s all his fault. He wails and sobs, screaming at the top of his lungs. The man just laughs at him, face to face. 

-

If the days before didn’t matter, time itself no longer exists anymore. He’s stopped begging to die, stopped begging for anything. 

The torture contiues as usual but he doesn’t look away. He lets his eyes glaze over and his mind drift far away from here. He drifts to where his family can hold him close. It no longer bothered him when the family he found company in didn’t have faces. He forgot what they should look like some time ago.

The sound of the front door being kicked in doesn’t startle him. He obeys and stares at the torn apart cat dripping blood on the table.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me add, “Don’t Fuck with Cats” is actually a television program I think you can find on Netflix. This chapter was based on this serial killer who used to post videos on YouTube of himself torturing cats in all these different ways. It’s such a terrible show in the way that you feel toward this man, I recommend watching it if you’re into serial killers and psychotic minded individuals.


	8. Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson reunites with his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Strong Language.
> 
> -
> 
> Thank you for reading this story :) I know it's rough haha. Maybe I'll write something fluffy for GOT7 as justice for this angsty story.

# 8: Time

* * *

  
  


_The sound of the front door being kicked in doesn’t startle him. He obeys and stares at the torn apart cat dripping blood on the table._

He hears gunfire ring in the room but does. Not. Look away from the remains, or the carnage, or the blood dripping into the puddle underneath.

“Holy shit…” An officer gasps. “Get a medic in here stat!”

“Oh fuck,” another officer gasps before covering his nose and leaving the room with a lurching gag.

A female officer hears the commotion and looks into the room. 

“Choi, take this,” The male officer still standing in the room says, giving her a medical mask.

Nodding in silent thanks, she places the mask over her nose and mouth before slowly walking closer to the young man. She’s almost afraid he could be dead, sitting there unmoving and unblinking. What had this man done to him?

“Hey there” The female officer Choi touches Jackson’s shoulder gently but he still reacts with a fearful flinch. “Can you hear me?”

His blank expression still doesn’t turn from the table. Officer Choi turns to her partner Oh and makes a worried expression. 

Jackson doesn’t disobey. He doesn’t care about the world around him anymore. Stare, that’s what he does first. Just stare until his mind graciously takes over for him. It’s so kind. His mind is so kind. So kind and warm. He floats somewhere past the line and deep in his head where the blood can’t reach him, where time starts ticking again.

  
  


### 2022.06.14 (Tue)... 4:23 PM | The Hospital

One of the nurses said he’s been doing a good job, that he’s recovering nicely. His doctor also said his infections are almost gone and that his finger isn’t that badly broken. He jammed the middle finger on his right hand, but his left ring finger is the only one in a finger cast. The police came and asked a lot of questions, made him feel guilty because he couldn’t remember everything and that was deserving of punishment, he told them so, but Officer Choi looked shocked for a moment before she smiled softly and said they’d be there if he ever feels threatened or receives those types of texts again. 

The only people he’s spoken to since being rescued had to have been the police officers. He hasn’t spoken to anyone since finding the TV remote and seeing himself on the screen. It was an old picture of him, when his face was full and eyes alive, not a clue about what happens in the dark cracks of the world. The reporter said something about the man who allegedly kidnapped him, and that he was a serial killer. They were wrong about him being the initial kidnapper, he bought him just the same as the others had, but he doesn’t feel like relaying the entire story to anyone again, the cops took all his energy and story with them. 

Not because the hospital staff isn’t nice, the nurses are gentle and make him feel special every time they enter his room. During his more stressful recovery times, they’ve brought him flowers from the garden he was gazing at outside the window, they even somehow worked up to hugs upon greeting him and waves when they leave, and they _always_ fill the room with their nothing but their kind voices. Jackson, upon experience, doesn’t want to fall for their kindness, but desperately wants to fall so deep into their care just the same. They don’t seem to mind that he doesn’t return any words or participate in conversations, but he’s gotten up to nodding and shaking his head at least. 

The life in his eyes hasn't returned as they remain dull and far away most times, he can’t deny seeing the way his responses brighten up the doctor’s and nurses’ faces, though, and that makes him feel quite good. Eye contact is another thing he has trouble with and it embarrasses him during the moments he doesn’t feel the stress of accidentally looking and receiving a punishment. He knows these people would have access to some pretty lethal tools to torture him with, maybe slice him up agonizingly, or if they were feeling less like cleaning his mess they could inject painful toxins into his drip while he slept. They’re smiles and kind voices could switch up so fast his head would spin, and it would be all his fault for ruining another potential good thing all because he couldn’t obey this one simple rule. After accidentally peering up and meeting their eyes, he’d fling himself into full blown panic and beg that they not hurt him. It didn’t matter how many times they promised not to hurt him, people can always go back on their word. The best place to look would be their shoulder or neck, but if he looks into their eyes he feels judged and insecure, like they can see all the sins he’s committed. Last night, he made eye contact with his doctor and started crying. They still haven’t given him his deserved punishments and they should be adding up by now, culminating to be an excruciating ordeal. It was embarrassing but the doctor didn’t say he was being bad, so Jackson assumed it was acceptable this one time and settled his tears to the occasional sniffle. Dr. Jeong patted his head, smoothing down a ruffled knot softly before telling him he would be going home now, that if he needed anything he should let the nurses know. 

“No matter how small the issue,” Dr. Jeong added. “Or how small the issue seems to _you.”_

They asked if he wanted visitors and he shook his head vehemently. Who would visit him? He had no one anymore. They had to have all moved on by now, his family was dead and his group was no longer together. Two years have gone by. When he saw the date on the whiteboard he was sent into a panic attack. The nurses no longer put the date on the board and have taken the clock out, not that he insists that they bring them back.

  
  


### : Visitors

“I know you said you don’t want visitors, hun,” The nurse starts, brushing his hair behind his ear. “But your friends are here again and they really want to see you.”

He got a haircut yesterday much to his fear. Each time the pointed edge sliced through the air toward his face, he’d suck in a sharp breath. Once it was over, the hair stylist poked his cheek and slid a lollipop in his clenched fist.

“Cute!~” She cooed at her finished product. 

The nurses haven’t been able to stop themselves from brushing his hair every time they see him now, but he isn’t complaining because it feels like Mama when she’d shush him after sex. 

  
  
  
  


Jackson shakes his head and turns to the window, fingers clenching the blanket.

“Jackson...I’m not sure if you won’t like hearing this,” The nurse slowly says. “They have been coming here every day since you’ve been fou...since you’ve been here. They miss you very much. Maybe you can give them a try? Wouldn’t it be nice having some friends to talk to? They care so very much about you.”

He thought of them every second he was gone. He cried at night begging in the dark for even a second to see them, to hold and be held by them. Then his thoughts started to blur and twist into thoughts of how he was going to come out alive, if he _wanted_ to come out alive. He thought of how their lives are most definitely better with him being gone, that those two years of being called ‘bad’ and torture have shown him how truly terrible he is. In the moment he began thinking of how cats could be killed, he knew he was not allowed to think of his friends or family in that same mind. They don’t want to see him like this. Unless they’ve come to see that he got what he deserves. What if they’re angry at him too? The nurse said they’ve come every day in hopes to see him. Is he being bad for denying them? Would he be bad for letting them in? No matter how much it hurts, he wants to see them so much. He turns back to the nurse, looking at her high set collarbone, and nods his head earning a smile. 

  
  


It isn’t long until the door is slowly opening and the first steps are heard. The end of those footfalls have previously been painful for him, and have always come to bring him nothing but harm. This time, he sees the face of Mark and something in him snaps. BamBam is already crying which makes Jackson cry harder. Youngjae, Jinyoung, Jaebum, Yugyeom, Mark, and BamBam cover him in hugs. He fights the reaction to flinch and holds onto whoever he can, as tightly as he can. He _was_ being bad. He was being so bad! It might’ve been unintentional but he hurt them by not letting them in, by making it seem like he didn’t want to see them even if he really _didn’t_ want to see them. Or so he thought. Maybe he just wasn’t ready to get back into his life. He didn’t want to see what was taken from him, to face the harsh reality that he _is_ going to have to face the world again, to get judged and scrutinized. But there’s also the part of the world that will encourage and cherish him to the end, and he had forgotten all about that warmth. 

They stay huddled like that, crying and telling Jackson how dearly they missed him. And Jackson just holds them tighter, too afraid to say anything wrong and ruin the moment, but they don’t push him to speak and he finds the air so much lighter. It actually tastes a little sweet. He wants to look into their eyes so achingly, but that isn’t something he deserves yet.

  
  


### : A Sudden Decline

The boys came every day and stayed from the beginning of visiting ours and to the end. They didn’t end up disbanding, knowing Jackson wouldn’t have wanted them to do that for him, but they did keep a spot open for him at all times. Making new music was difficult, always saving a version of the song for Jackson to be in. They didn’t want to believe he was gone, swept off the face of the earth just in a matter of seconds. Jaebum took it personally, keeping secrets from the group because he was in too much pain to scold anyone, to correct mistakes, to be a _leader._ It took months to stop the random crying, the random aches in their hearts thinking about him, even after two years they’d cry when they’d sing a song and take a moment for Jackson’s part. They’d leave a spotlight and microphone for him, always, _always for him_. Jackson is someone they could not get over losing.

A piece of him wished they filled the silence with things happening in the moment, and not stories of the years he’s missed, but he deals with it because the sound of their voices chases the sour memories away, if only in their presence. But seeing them here surrounding his bed, looking healthy if not sleep deprived and stressed, brings back the heavy feelings of guilt. No matter how desperately he wants their touch, he starts to pull away from them. The minimal eye contact that they did finally share, has gone to none at all, instead he stares at his hands picking the sheets. They thought of him much longer than he thought of them, and that makes him undeserving of their friendship. While he thought of dying, they prayed he’d come home safe and alive. _Fucking selfish_.

As if he’s truly become transparent, or he’s stopped trying to hide because it was pointless, the boys catch on and give him words of praise and encouragement. They tell him it’s okay to feel these things, that it’s going to take time to heal and recover, they’ll be here every step of the way. Jackson only pouts and whines, shaking his head in denial. 

“We’ll be here,” Jinyoung promises. “We won’t lose you again, Jackson...We can’t.”

  
  


It might’ve taken days to believe them, but he does eventually listen to their words though he feels bad for craving the praise and softness. He isn’t sure if he'll ever not feel guilty for wanting to be loved.


	9. "Hi"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Small progress is still progress and Jackson has a lot of small moments.

# 9: “Hi”

* * *

At the psych ward, he has a daily schedule that’s easy to follow and keep up with, never changing and never surprising him. It’s good for right now, it’s everything he needs. They’ve given him another haircut he tried to enjoy, massages that he _very_ much enjoyed, pedicures, and manicures - constantly giving him the most gentle human contact that they can, and he can’t help but melt into them. They’ve also provided him a psychiatrist and at first he thought having a psychiatrist would be embarrassing or make him feel patronized and crazy, however it actually made the things that happened feel a little less like his fault and for the first time in however long he feels his feet touch the ground when he walks. He didn’t have to say what happened, he didn’t speak at all, but by looking at him anyone could see the way he felt. She told him it was absurd to put the blame on him, which made him feel a bit stupid until she started asking the questions that fought in his mind. 

“Did you kidnap yourself? Did you steal yourself away for two years? Did you hurt yourself? Did you walk into their hands and tell them to hurt you?”

He wanted to say yes to all of those questions, yet at the same time he felt like he’d be lying for the sake of wanting to take the blame, to prove some pathetic point. He hates knowing he had no control over those parts in his life, that he couldn’t prevent anything from happening. He knew she was right, he just doesn’t want to face it, doesn’t want to face the complete lack of control. How _easy_ it is for life to suddenly stop and flip upside down.

One day, she looked to be struggling with a rather large tote bag but successfully sat it on the floor beside Jackson’s bed. He was just brushing his hair, making it look presentable because Dr. Lee said if we look good and take care of ourselves then we could feel better on the inside too. Dr. Lee said she wanted to take today’s meeting in his personal room, which startled him because it wasn’t part of their routine, it wasn’t written in his schedule, it was unexpected. She told him unplanned events are not strictly negatives, and that doing things spontaneously could be beneficial sometimes, fun too.

He sat on the edge of the bed with fingers clutching his solar system sheets in shaking fists. Dr. Lee also suggested this, and talked the staff into letting him have creative expression, more colourful things in his room, it was the one of the times he felt appreciative toward her. Today, he’s a bit on edge with her and kind of angry that she changed plans last minute. He can’t predict what may happen this time, and her analytical eyes seem scarier than usual, maybe because he feels vulnerable on his bed.

“Is it alright if I use your desk chair, Jackson?” Dr. Lee asks naturally, kindly.

Jackson nods and his shoulders relax as she takes a seat; she’s less intimidating when she’s sitting. 

“I brought you some things to take a look at,” Dr. Lee gestures to the bag sitting between them. “They’re much like presents, if you’d like to consider them that way. I thought you would enjoy them very much. Can I show them to you?”

Thankfully, she asks to look in the bag herself and not force him to open the bag of surprises. Jackson nods slowly, looking at the bag and biting his lip. What could it be? She gets off the chair and kneels next to the bag. He wonders offhandedly if her slacks are comfortable enough to be doing that, it must be rude making her open them when they’re _his_ presents she got for him.

“C-” Jackson stops himself before he can finish the first word he’s ever spoken since the hospital. His voice is soft and airy, as if he’d been sick and lost his voice, like he’s a tween boy going through late onset puberty. 

Dr. Lee looks at him patiently before smiling softly. “Would you like to open it? I wrapped them.”

Jackson nods quickly, scooting off the bed and sitting next to the bag in tight squat before his anxiety can tell him no. Dr. Lee doesn’t sit back on her chair, but she does give him more space. He reaches for the magnetic button holding the opening together. The last time he saw a bag this big, insects were in them. His hand flies back to his chest, pushing the bag with his foot.

“No need to be afraid, Jackson, right? You’re always safe here, safe with me,” Dr. Lee reminds him. “I would _never_ trick you or put something upsetting in there. Only nice things. Remember our previous session? I wanted to bring you a fun surprise? I’m trying to catch you off guard, yes, but I’m not trying to harm you with an unpleasant surprise. I’m always honest with you, because that’s very important. Right?” 

Right. She’s a nice woman and all she’s done for him has been nothing but kind and without expectations attached. He can do this. He opens the bag slowly and peers in with wide eyes, brows in straight lines of worry. There really are presents inside. They’re wrapped neatly in sparkly, bright papers with large boys. He picks one up delicately, absolutely unaware of how shocked and innocent his expression has changed into, eyes wide and lips parted in the smallest gape.

“You can open it,” Dr. Lee says with a small laugh. “They aren’t much, but I thought you deserved something for how well you’ve been doing.”

He took his time unwrapping them, not wanting to destroy the pretty paper nor the time it took to wrap them. The first gift is a bit unexpected, but this whole exchange has been and he finds it odd that he doesn’t feel uncomfortable anymore. Inside the box is a small stuffed tiger, maybe the size of a soccer ball or smaller, and it makes his heart swell. It’s soft and fluffy, how would she have known he’d like this? Maybe she’s seen videos of him… He’s thankful, nonetheless. The rest of the gifts are colouring books, crayons, poetry books, and a puzzle set. The silence isn’t right, it’s rude in a time like this and maybe she’s doing this on purpose but she deserves it. Deserves…

“T-thank you,” Jackson looks at her briefly before looking away, a warmth spreading across his cheeks that he knows must be blush. 

That wasn’t right either. He looks back up to her and tries to maintain eye contact long enough to see the smile that reaches them. Her eyes are pretty, well, _she’s_ pretty too and he catches himself staring a little too possessively before he tries not to seem so gross. She’s been so kind to him and he just sits and dies in his mind while she actually shows care toward him. 

“What’s wrong? Why are you crying, Jackson?” Dr. Lee’s concerned voice only makes his emotions more turbulent. He can only shake his head but she doesn’t ask for more. She’ll ask an easier question. “Do you not like them?” 

Jackson shakes his head again, holding the tiger against his chest. “I like ‘em.” 

Dr. Lee looks like she’s about to say something more but settles for, “Good.” And let’s Jackson look at his gifts for as long as he needs to. 

When things get quieter, Dr. Lee scoots a little closer. “Do you want to take a nap or play?”

It takes a moment but eventually Jackson takes one hand away from the tiger and grabs the coloring book.

“...Play.” Jackson decides quietly.

Dr. Lee is a beautiful woman who is not only bringing him back, but she cares about him too. She’s Jackson’s friend who gave her a tiger. She’s _Jackson’s_ friend. _Only_ Jackson’s.

  
  


### : Progression 

The biggest thing to catch _himself_ off guard has been his liking to receiving surprises, so long as they remain pretty presents, and he’s gotten a lot of them recently. Whenever the boys are able to visit him, they bring presents too, not always wrapped up like Dr. Lee’s but they’re still just as meaningful. Sometimes it’s candy but they limit him to only a few at a time because he got too hyper once and couldn’t fall asleep when he was scheduled. He got so tired that he threw himself into a panic attack in the middle of the night, feeling alone and afraid again until one of the nurses came by and helped him through it. It wasn’t as big a panic attack as the one he had at the mention of his parents, that day was the biggest disaster to date during his road to recovery. He doesn’t remember throwing anything, he doesn’t remember screaming his throat bloody, and he doesn’t remember dragging his nails down his left shoulder until pieces of flesh came off. But breakable objects have been removed from his room, his throat was aching and it hurt to speak so much as swallow, and his shoulder had a bandage adhered to it, so it must’ve all been true. 

  
  


“Hi,” Jackson says meekly, arms opened insecurely, asking for a hug from whoever is willing to give one. 

Dr. Lee says it’s good to tell the people who he trusts about both the yucky and wonderful things going on in his mind, even if he doesn’t want to use words. Actions can be just as effective. 

Jackson welcomes the slowly folding, delicate hug from Yugyeom. Yugyeom’s hugs are the kind that slightly lifts him off his seat in a pulsing squeezy type of hug, only to be replaced with Jinyoung who hugs a little differently than the others. Holding his head close to the sound of the younger’s beating heart, Jackson finds that he rather enjoys the soft hugs in place of the tight ones. He’s allowed to grab his shirt to pull the contact closer, make his heart beat clearer. It’s like they’re afraid they’d break him if they squeezed too tight not because they think he’s weak but because they think he’s worthy of the tendernesses. It gives him butterflies that make his tummy a little upset and it sometimes makes him cranky, he sometimes feels overwhelmed with what he’s feeling that all he can do is whine and pout. His fingers would feel tingly with the need to clutch a soft thing in his hands, his teeth would find his bottom lip and knead tenderly until one of the boys tug it out and rub it kindly in their thumb and forefinger. All he could do is pout again.

The childish tantrums, the whining, the baby voice - these are things the Jackson they knew did two years ago. It brings nostalgic smiles to their faces and they eat it up, they don’t turn away when Jackson wants to nuzzle his nose against theirs, pull their foreheads together and cuddle, they don’t deny him anything that could save that precious torn heart.

### -

“Have you ever heard of Sigmund Freud, either in school or maybe in passing?” Dr. Lee asks and Jackson nods. “According to his studies, he stated that regression is an unconscious defense mechanism, in which case it would cause a temporary or sometimes long-term reversion of the ego to an earlier stage of development. Now that sounds a bit intense, doesn’t it?” 

Dr. Lee smiles in that friendly way that Jackson’s learned to feel safe around. He shifts until he’s comfortable and lays his head against the arm of the couch. With a small nod from the young male, Dr. Lee continues:

“Regression is actually a normal part of _everyone’s_ childhood, and it can be triggered by stress, frustration, or through a traumatic event. However, trauma is not necessary to experience this form of regression. If you’ve ever seen a kid who seemed to be acting ‘immaturely’ or ‘too young for their age’ in order to gain attention, affection, or what have you, then you most likely witnessed regression. This happens immensely when a child feels that they are no longer being babied in favor of a new sibling. Children would use this regressive behavior to communicate their distress, and by addressing the underlying unmet need, the child would usually correct this regressive behavior and go back to acting their biological age. The reason I’m explaining this with you is because during our time together, I’ve noticed several instances of regression.”

Jackson’s eyes grow fearful. “Really? I don’t feel like a baby...And I- I think I’m aware of everything?” Jackson insecurely questions.

“You could be aware of what’s happening, but feel as though you’re a different age. It’s different for a lot of people, you might experience it in your own way,” Dr. Lee tells him. “You may not even feel like a child, but rather retreat to an earlier developmental stage when you felt safer and when stress was nonexistent, or when an all-powerful parent or another adult would have rescued you. Sometimes the regression is emotional, socially, or behaviorally and insecurity, fear, and anger can all be triggers that cause an adult to regress.”

“Is...Is it...bad?” Jackson asks softly, his eyes distracted by the large stuffed Squirtle Mark gifted him sitting on his lap. 

“Not necessarily,” Dr. Lee says consideringly. “It can be simple or complex, harmful or harmless. For example, if one of the caretakers comes by and asks you to take your daily medication and you say no because you’ve regressed, it _could_ be a harmful or a rather difficult instance. Or if you hear unsettling news and become inconsolable, you could hurt yourself. But it’s not always seen as a problematic situation. More often then not, you should be aware of everything, remember the event, but _physically feel_ younger. Carl Jung believed regression wasn’t a relapse, but an attempt to achieve something important like a feeling of childhood innocence, a sense of security, reciprocated love, and trust.”

“My parents were murdered, remember?” Jackson asks, feeling the tug of anxiety course through him, but he accepts that feeling and refuses to let it consume him, breathing through it like Dr. Lee’s taught him. “I don’t...I don’t have a safe place.”

Dr. Lee is quiet for a moment, maybe taken by the fire in those words that hadn’t been there before, but she looks to the small stuffed Pokemon held tightly in his arms and looks to meet his eyes.

  
“You have your friends.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all are being safe around these tense times. I haven't slept for two days straight, I have no idea what's wrong. I'm not tired at all. I can lay in bed and feel like running a mile. It's currently about ~ 11 p.m. wish me luck in the coming hours!
> 
> UPDATE: 
> 
> Nope, nope, nope. I went to bed at 3 and had sleep paralysis 🙃 shadow demon people can suck my balls.


	10. Home

#  10: Home

  
  


They’ve changed the dorm to a likeness that would soothe Jackson’s soul and heart, that has been their main priority this entire time they’ve been visiting him and they won’t stop simply because he’s leaving the hospital. It might’ve been difficult explaining what Dr. Lee told him, but he did so with the best of his abilities and only felt his mind wander once; he was pretty proud of himself when he finished. It was only slightly disappointing when they still looked at him confusingly and said they didn’t  _ quite  _ understand what he was trying to say, so he allowed Dr. Lee to do the talking and she mentioned something about it being easier for him to regress because it was already in his nature, his personality and charm. They looked to him with first concern of the implications and then a softness he hadn’t seen before. It made him warm and tingle in his fingertips and chest, like he wanted a hug but didn’t know how to ask for one. He settled for kicking his feet a few times.

In preparation for his return, they made sure they had night lights in the halls, bathrooms, and Jackson and Jaebum’s bedroom. The dorm wasn’t a dark place and personally they never found the environment harmful for their health, but from what his doctor had told them and from what Jackson allowed the psychiatrist to share, he needs to physically be in a place that will do nothing but provide comfort to him. Light being the primary factor here. When the nurse changed his dressings, they saw the scars that litter his still too frail body, and them turning away only upset Jackson into a fit. He ignored them and went silent again, evading their touch and not looking them in the eyes. It wasn’t until they told him they were sorry and how much they loved him no matter what, did Jackson look up. It was always a challenge guessing what he needed when the fits came or when he’d stop talking altogether and whine sadly. 

Again, they’ve made appropriate preparations to the dorm. None of the rooms were off limits to Jackson, and none of the doors were locked behind or in front of him. The couch had cutely shaped pillows and soft blankets, the bathroom had decals of baby fish and animals wearing scuba gear, tons of stuffed animals on Jackson’s bed - all of these things may seem over the top and childish, but even Jackson two years ago would have found these details adorable and unable to resist. He was the type of guy who knew who he was and didn’t let the words that judged him hinder what he knew and wanted. He wanted close proximity with others, no matter the gender or age, he loved the skinship and feeling of closeness and the connection or safety that it provided. He loved knowing he was loved back, making sure to hug the members constantly to show that he is right by their side. He wanted kisses and cuddles, hand holding and hugging on a regular basis. He wouldn’t see their newly decorated dorm as an insult, he’d love every ounce of it. They need him to smile, because it’s been too long since they’ve seen the light in his eyes or hear the small breathy chuckle that accompanied most of his grins. 

He cried. They didn’t expect that reaction.

“Well, sh-”

“ _ Youngjae-ah _ ,” Jinyoung scolds before the younger could finish.

“I knew this was a wild idea...” Jaebum mutters somewhere in the back of the group.

“Everyone calm down,” Jinyoung whisper yells to the other boys. “Close the front door.”

It’s their first time alone with Jackson in over two years, things are just tense. Sure, his psychiatrist will visit every so often for update sessions, but eventually she’ll stop coming and they’ll be left with their own faculties completely. 

“What’s the matter?” Yugyeom strokes his hand up and down Jackson’s back and leans down to speak to him softly. “It’s a lot to take in, huh?”

“Y-Yeah,” Jackson hiccups, wiping his eyes furiously. “I mih-miss my parents.”

Everyone quiets down, listening to Yugyeom and Jackson’s interaction.

“I know,” Yugyeom sighs and pulls Jackson into a side hug, rubbing his arm comfortingly. “We miss them, too, and we’ll try to help you as much as we can. We moved six months ago…” Yugyeom says looking around. “I haven’t really gotten used to it yet either, so maybe we can make it feel like home together?” Jackson doesn’t respond, only hiccuping and wiping his eyes. Yugyeom moves closer and puts his cheek on Jackson’s head. “You wanna look around? Jaebum hyung can show you your guys’ room?.”

“Okay,” Jackson sniffles. 

Jackson holds out his hand for Jaebum to take and the other boy responds quickly, extremely grateful that Yugyeom knew what Jackson needed. The rest of the boys give them space and take Jackson’s belongings into the living room for now while they figure out what actions to be done next. He didn’t have much, just the gifts they gave him over his time in the hospital. When they moved, they made sure to pack everything Jackson owned and bring it with them. And when his parents were found murdered, they made sure to pack all of their belongings as well and put them into a storage facility. They weren’t able to keep the apartment, it hurt knowing they had to give it up, but they should consider themselves lucky the apartment hasn’t been able to sell. News of what happened, and who it happened to, had spread like wildfire and no one felt right buying it.

“Thanks, Gyeom,” BamBam tells the younger male, hand resting on the back of his neck as they walk to the couch.

“Help me make lunch?” Mark asks Jinyoung. 

###  -

“Alright, so my bed is over here and this one is yours,” Jaebum gestures. 

Jackson’s bed is nearest the window, the view being the cityscape and Han River. His bed has all types of stuffed animals on it, from Pokemon to Line Friends and even stuffed cartoons of themselves. They’ve kept all his clothes and folded them neatly in his dresser, washed them to prevent that storage smell, and hung them in the closet next to Jaebum’s attire. All of his belongings are still here, oftenly dusted, as if he never left.

“I love you guys,” Jackson spins around to Jaebum, throwing himself at the older male. “I’m so,  _ so _ sorry I cry too much. I’m- I’m just so happy it g-gets hard t-to hold‘em in.”

“Then don’t,” Jaebum holds him fiercely for the first time since Jackson’s been found, and the younger is surprised to find he feels so safe in these arms and not suffocated or crushed like he thought he might’ve been. “You don’t have to feel like you need to be strong for the sake of us, or because you might feel guilty of taking our time. You- You were gone for  _ two years, _ I-” Jaebum pushes their foreheads together and breathes shakily. “I want you to take all my time, Jackson. I want you to smile and do that high pitch l-laugh until I’m deaf as fuh-fuck, hu-hah-hah.”

Jaebum stumbles out a choked-back bout of laughter then kisses Jackson’s forehead before pulling him back into a tight hug. They’re both crying now, not a sobbing painful cry, but a quiet and comforting one.

“I love you so much, it’s stupid,” Jaebum laughs wetly. “You’re my brother, remember? Don’t you  _ ever _ leave me, or  _ anyone, _ ever again. I felt like I couldn’t breathe sleeping in here alone. I know it’s nothing compared to the shit you went through, but I want you to know that we never went a single day without thinking about you. We love you like crazy, and we missed you so much it almost drove us apart. We came together for you, though, and now we will always be here for you. Don’t be sorry for crying, Seunie. Just- stop being sorry.”

  
  


###  -

  
  


He keeps a journal now, left on his bed in plain sight because he knows the boys won’t look through it, not if they want to keep his trust. If he wants them to read it, he sometimes shows them an entry that he would like to say aloud but can’t without his mind getting all jumbled. Most of the time, they’re entries of when he felt regressed. It’s sometimes hard to tell right when it’s happening, but eventually he figures it out and either cries at how scary everything suddenly is or he’d feel a little bit bubbly and fond of affection. By writing it all down, he can figure out what triggers he has, how he acts around said triggers, and how far down he regresses. His parents will remain the biggest trigger, sending him into heart wrenching sobs and incoherent speech more times than not. Sometimes if one of the boys speak to him using gentle voices, he can’t help but feel small and soft. If he regresses too far to write properly, he’ll find Jinyoung to write what he’d like to put down. The only thing he can usually write down is his age, and most times the numbers are backwards or contain the wrong number counter next to the character. Jinyoung doesn’t erase it or correct it either, just smiles and listens to Jackson mumble what he wants written. It’s typically about if he’s feeling hungry and what he’d like to eat, then he’ll venture into how he feels at the moment. It’s cute, when he describes how he feels like “popcorn” or “bubble wrap” some days, or like a “icky caterpillar” the next. Jinyoung can’t exactly interpret what those really mean, but Dr. Lee can figure out some theories while Jackson and her have their sessions. He’s getting better at not letting the small things trigger him, they still haven’t gotten used to the idea of going out and coming across strangers but they figured that would take more time. 

  
  


Mark catches Jackson putting his plate in the dishwasher and places a hand on the small of his back. “Jackson, c’mon it’s time for a shower.”

Jackson pouts, slouching with a whine. “I p-p’homised Bam to p’ay~. ‘M done eating now!”

Ah, so he’s feeling small right now. Mark smiles at the cute display, trying to understand what Jackson is saying. Jackson doesn’t know why he has to be clean  _ right _ now when he had  _ allllllll _ day to do it. It isn’t far that Mark is making him do it as soon as he promises to play with his new puzzle Jinyoung bought him. BamBam even told him he’d help him figure it out this time because the one last night was too hard and he might’ve gotten upset and cried a little. But only a little! 

Mark looks like he’s considering Jackson’s predicament before saying, “You can still play, but wouldn’t it be nice to be all clean and comfy so you can play longer?”

That sounds smart! “I can p’ay for a long time?” Jackson asks sweetly, grabbing onto the sides of Mark’s shirt at his waist. “P’ease!”

“Yeah, you can finish the entire puzzle!” Mark answers excitedly. It wasn’t like he was actually a child, he had no bedtime even if Jinyoung figured he should.

They’ve never had to assist him in the shower, although they do remain in the bathroom with him upon Jackson’s insistence. Today, however- 

“Wanna bath,” Jackson pouts as Mark starts the shower.

“That’s what we’re doing, bud,” Mark says.

Jackson shakes his head, pointing down to the tub. “Nuh uh. Wan’ take  _ bath _ .”

“Oh,” Mark turns off the shower and starts to plug the tub. “I should’ve asked. D’you want cherry blossoms or this, uh...fruity one BamBam uses?”

“Bam!” Jackson points to the one Mark is reading the ingredients of. “Wash me?”

“Huh?” Mark blushes, looking up at Jackson who seems unaffected by his request. “You usually wash yourself.”

“Bu-...” Jackson huffs, tears welling up in his quickly red rimming eyes. “Mm...W-Wan’  _ you  _ t’do it. You. M-Mar-” Jackson can’t seem to finish his sentence as his hiccuping increases to hyperventilation levels.

“I’m sorry, Jackson, I’m sorry,” Mark hushes Jackson in a comforting embrace. “I didn’t mean to upset you, I’m sorry. Shh, shh, that’s it. Breathe just like that. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Aw, you don’t need to cry anymore. I understand.”

They twist in a slow lulling motion as Jackson calms down in Mark’s arms, sniffling and whining quietly. Turning back to the tub, Mark sees it’s almost full now and tells Jackson he’s going to add the bubbles. The younger male is a lot calmer now, but the pink lingering on his nose and eyelids make Mark increasingly guilty. He hasn’t cried all day, and the request isn’t  _ that _ terrible. It’s  _ Jackson _ for fuck’s sake. If anything, he should be blessed to be able to wash his friend again, to see him again, to care for him the way he fucking deserves. Mark mdentally kicks himself before leaning over and kissing Jackson on the temple. 

“Alright, bud, ready?” Mark smiles, trying to sound exciting for Jackson who nods, still looking weary about Mark not wanting to wash him.

Mark averts his eyes when Jackson removes his towel and dips into the warm water with a soft hum. 

“Wah, isn’t that nice?” Mark rolls his sleeves up and reaches for a loofa with a small chuckle.

“Yeah,” Jackson whispers.

The scars that have now healed only seem to become more prominent in the water and Mark almost has the urge to scrub them off this undeserving soul. He wants to erase everything painful from his mind, even if it means that they wouldn’t have met, he would let Jackson live that other life if it meant he wouldn’t have gone through the path of hell. Some scars are fading, mostly the artificial ones on his face and arms. However, his back is a mosaic of raised, torn, and stitched stories he couldn’t bear to hear. How Jackson survived those years, Mark doesn’t know. He stops the tears that he feels coming and focuses on the quiet boy in front of him. 

“I love you, Jackson,” Mark suddenly can’t stop himself from saying.

The look he receives is of shyness, but he sees a slight smile in his eyes and knows Jackson can come back.

“Stop it,” Jackson whines none too seriously.

“What?” Mark pretends to be innocent, loving this playful mood Jackson might be in. “But I do love you. You’re just the  _ cutest _ and  _ sweetest!~ _ Aren’t you gonna say it back?” 

Jackson, for the first time, giggles. All Mark can do is gasp at the sound and tear up at the smile made just for him.

“Stop it~,” Jackson giggles another time.

Soon Mark is laughing as well, Jackson’s laugh being as infectious as ever even if it’s quieter and not as carefree. He leans over the tub’s rim and kisses the wet temple of the boy who brought the light back to his darkness. 

  
  



	11. Author's Update

Hello,

I want to apologize first, as this is not the update you most likely want to see.

As you well know, updating this story has taken me an excruciatingly long time to do. It has also taken me the same length of time, if not longer, to come to terms with my health, both mentally and physically. 

I'm in no way obligated to share, but there's no harm with honesty - right? Well.

I've fallen deeply back into depression and am struggling with not relapsing into previous self destructive tendencies. As for now, I'm dealing with the worst my ednos has ever been and it's taking everything and everyone away from me. I'm trying to find my passions again, but I don't know the first idea how.

I'm so sorry for ignoring this story and all of you who comment such nice and encouraging sentiments, but I will come back. I promise. 

Wishing you all the best love and light during your darkest hours.

\- J.


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